Hagiography Of The Little Match Girl

the christmas cross stitch countries flare

in matchlight, moonbright in the air

and she's entranced and otherwhere

and cannot feel the cold.

and now it's bayberry candled

hidden in the wind, the secret

key in the lock that turns

exposing riches to the winter air-

to her-

and all she has to do is stare

in the blue sweetheart of a yellow flame.

but it dies down. against the wind

there is no shelter, finally.

and one more match for splendor

fit, remains.

above the tinseled homemade stars

just one scene in a Christmas play:

a loving face is wreathed in clouds

and wears the snow like God's own grace.

and in the light that streams and streams

there's no one on the streets to see

the child half frozen in the mists

gathered into eternity.

mary angela douglas 12 may 2014