Matchstick girl.

Matchstick girl in ragged clothes,
lace up shoes and purple toes.
'come buy your matchsticks from me sir,
your wife all fancy in her fur'.
Every night on London's streets
there were matchstick girls
with clip clop feet.
Men with sticks and big top hats,
cobbled streets and hungry cats.
Gas lights dimming out the night
pavement shadows causing fright.
The matchstick girl to a window ledge
strikes a match from behind a hedge.
Yuletide greetings she does see,
candles lit on a christmas tree.
Girls with velvet ribbons and bows,
fancy frocks and socks on toes.
A mantlepiece with stockings hung,
gathered folk and a carol sung.
Satsumas, figs and dry cured ham,
chestnuts roast in a metal pan.
Then the matchstick girl with 
her sticks of light returns again to
the black cold night.
'come buy your matchsticks from
me please',
as she starts to shake and she starts
to freeze.
That night her matchsticks all ran out,
she could not light a match to shout.
The snow had poured down 
snow on snow,
the matchstick girl nowhere to go.
She lay down on the snow instead
with angel wings to rest her head.
The snowflakes carried her away
to a place called heaven far away.