Her small, cold hands
Hold nothing but a pack of
Matchsticks

She holds one out in eagerness
But goes unnoticed in the bustling streets
The tears welling in her
Are not out of sadness
But of of the pain the bitter weather
Has caused her
Her rags do not provide her the warmth she needs
Her bare feet absorb the cold
From the slippery road beneath her
Her lips are blue
Just like her eyes were
Sleepless nights turn them red
Her once radiating skin
Is now pale and bleak
Just like the sky

She was the summer
But the winter
Spread to her like a disease