Many years ago, I read a story of a small girl, lost and alone.

Selling matches by the book, fingers stained black with soot,

ignored on this frozen day, lighting matches to make her way.

And I remember feeling grief for a tale, of a girl so long ago,

lighting matches by the book to retain a lively glow.

And if the moral of this story is, be careful what you dream,

may I continue lighting matches to keep the light burning.