Every morning
She walks down the road.
Basket full of matches
Held in frostbitten fingers.
Calling out.
No one hearing her.
Begging for love.
Pleading for warmth.
Craving for food.
Hoping someone will need
A matchstick.
No one ever looks
Her way.
She walks down the road.
Basket full of matches
Held in frostbitten fingers.
Calling out.
No one hearing her.
Begging for love.
Pleading for warmth.
Craving for food.
Hoping someone will need
A matchstick.
No one ever looks
Her way.
Comments
Log in or register to post comments.