The night was dark and damp and cold.
The match girl’s matches still unsold.
The passers by ignored her pleas
what she was selling failed to please.
An orphan child without a home.
By circumstances forced to roam
She earns enough to pay her way
but not today, but not today.
Ill clad in rags and frozen through
her tiny hands and feet are blue.
The freezing rain turns into snow
The match girl has nowhere to go.
Without money, she cannot buy
a night in somewhere warm and dry.
She tries in vain to sell her wares
Without success, nobody cares.
The falling snow was getting deep
and still she had no place to sleep.
Although she tried in vain to find
some shelter from the freezing wind.
This was the night the match girl died.
They found her frozen stiff beside
the local convents well barred door.
The little Sisters of the Poor.
Had not been very sisterly.
Ignored the orphans misery
because they did not choose to see.
Now kindly death has set her free.
No longer needs the charity
which they denied so easily
by pious women who profess
to proffer aid to the helpless.
I do not claim to be guilt free
but I  make no pretence to be
a Little sister of the poor
and let a child freeze at my door.
I am quite sure they will
deny any responsibility
and call her death an accident.
They could nothing to prevent.
I should not judge but feel I must
express my feelings of disgust
That this child was allowed to die
for lack of Christian charity.
Although this happened long ago
There’s very little changed I know.
We’re still prepared to pass them by
and care not if they live or die.
We can pretend they don’t exist
an attitude which will persist
As long as we don’t choose to see
They’re our responsibility.
12-Aug-08