A little child was selling
burnt matchsticks in winter

They came across a man
as the child ventured the street

"Mister, mister,
please buy my matches,
I'm hungry, and I require
blankets to warm me."

The man gave
no regard of the child,
he walked away.

The wind blew harder,
and it was colder
than before

The child came across
a farmer carrying a bag of hay,
and they tugged the farmer's shirt

"Mister, mister,
please buy my matches,"

He simply looked
at the child, then left.
.
.
.
.
.
After a few attempts, the child lost hope.
It was cold after all, so the child thought of lighting
the last matchstick that was not burnt like the others.

And, it lit but barely warmed the child
After a while, the flame dimmed.
Yet, the child can only observe
whilst longing for warmth

The petite child snickers,
as a wintercearig feeling settled within
"A matchstick can't burn that long, silly me."