Russian nights were once grand:
Fine lords with finer ladies
Bejeweled foot to hand.
Their chatter in tune to the melodies
That fill the opera hall.
The show is done, they all head home
Drifting lightly like the sea foam.
But on the corner they don't seem to see,
The little girl with the scabbed knees
From begging those passing by,
"Buy a match, sir?" she says – nay, she cries!
It's been three days since she made her last sale
Her fingers are trembling; her face is pale.
She's had just scraps, and the snow to drink
As she sees them stroll by in their ermine and mink.
On the street's other side she sees the girls with the flowers
Who are more welcoming to those with the power
To help provide for an orphan, for that's what she is.
Oh, for a miracle! Her heart cries out to Him.
Her eyes spot a coin, which a gentleman dropped.
No one would know; perhaps she's in luck!
But then she recalls that which her grandmamma once told:
"To all do the same; that is worth gold."
Believing that this may be part of God's plan,
She picks up the coin and runs after the man.
"Sir," she calls out. "I believe you dropped this."
He turns, amazed at her interest.
Taking in her bare feet, her ragged dress,
He says, "Keep it, my dear," to the poor child
For he knows that these winters are not often mild.
She stares in wonder as he continues on,
First at his hat, then at her palm.
"Thank you, good sir," she calls out feebly.
Then stronger: "The Lord blesses those who bless the needy!"
With the coin clutched tightly she runs down the street
To the bakery with rolls, cakes and meat.
She races up the stairs, almost dancing with glee,
And stops, seeing one less lucky than she
Huddled up in a corner, his face turned away,
Avoiding the winds as he has tried all day.
Pauses she by the door, her face losing its joy
As she considers the bread, the money, and the boy.
With a deep breath she walks into the store,
And with six rolls she comes out of the door.
Approaching the boy, she asks, "Would you like some?"
He looks at her, startled, then taking one,
Asks, "Ain't they yours?"
"Well, yes," she stammers, "but you may have more."
Slowly he nods and accepts the gifts
And she sits down beside him and begins to drift
Off into dreamland, for she feels now that she's safe.
But in the morning he finds that she does not wake.
They may not have names; hope you think that's fine
Their story is carved into this heart of mine
Please don't feel sad; please don't shed a tear
When this goes deeper than your ear.
The loss of her to the world was really a gain
She's gone to a place where there's no more pain.