May I share a poem inspired by Hans Christian Andersen's "Little Match Girl"? c/c?

Question

"Young Annie Brown"

by Egg-O

I saw the notice of her death one late December day:

Young Annie Brown, a lass of ten, had hurried home from school

The last day ‘fore the Christmas break, and family and friends

Had waited what they thought was fit ― their Annie was a fool

For playing and for merriment. Alas! The story ends

With knocking at their Yuletide door, and in a somber way.

Young Annie, frail and fool to all, had seen a homeless man

Of deathly pallor huddled up against the old church door;

The organ softly beat inside, and she slipped off her coat

And spread it on the sleeping stranger she could not ignore

And wandered slowly, looking back, a strange lump in her throat;

She stood and thought of him, and down her cheeks small droplets ran.

Congealing on her tender face, they quickly turned to frost

And she became confused and wandered slowly from her path;

The hour grew late and through the sleet and snow she silent trod

And thought of home, how late it was, imagined father’s wrath

And stumbled, falling in the night against the frozen sod;

She lay there murmuring until all consciousness was lost.

The vagrant, waking from his slumbers, shaking off the snow

Accumulated overnight was filled with wonder at

The Christmas blessing fallen while he desolate had slept.

But what was this small coat he thought, and puzzled as he sat

And then he saw the name inside; remembering, he wept.

He wondered if she’d made it home. Alas! He had to know.

He rose and trod heroically, as if on a crusade

To find the place whence came this tiny waif who thought to do

This tender thing to which he owed the passion of this hour.

But all his thankfulness, and that he lived, she never knew;

Half-frozen, losing consciousness, she’d only thought to cower

And there they found her Christmas night; a block from home she laid.

The vagrant, crazed from thought of her, at last came to her door

And heard the sobs and wails of kinfolk pouring from inside.

The angel’s father heard the knock and went to answer it

And peering out he saw the coat, and though his heart denied

The awful thing he first surmised, the candle he had lit

To guide her in the darkness sputtered, and it burned no more.

Update:

It's always so telling when someone who blocks you thinks it's ethical to answer your questions. Don't you agree Cheese Whisperer? You really shouldn't be here, son.

Answer 1

Favorite Answer

this ia a chilling and beautiful story. but the only thing with the reality of it is, that if this actually occured it would still be in the papers today. while fairy tales are cruel and stupid and abusive they go in the other direction completely angelic in other terms. Children are that good hearted, they will share what ever they have with you and the smallest will force you to take a bite of what ever he offers by cramming it down your throat and the poor are more giving than any one but a child this young wouldnt be that aware of anothers need. and why the heck was she out by her self on that kind of night? I think the ghost of one of the cruel fairy tales just slipped in. It is a beautifully written story though.

Answer 2

LC / BA, This is very ambitious and exciting. I think it could be condensed down a bit as to length There are many "breath taking" scenes that illustrate the vivid imagination of the authors. In one spot (at the end of the 1st stanza), having the protaganist ask a question stops the flow a bit. Here, I would make a general narrator comment on the circumstance. There's good voicing here, with a freight train momentum, but I think condensing down, and a few corrections in flow and rhythm would make this a genuine cliff hanger. My compliments to these two, gifted story tellers. AYF Gene.

Answer 3

Some people are Angels, some are not. This is so sad and tragic makes me think of the 1800's. Oh they would have wept to see this in their papers. Do you think - there is any way this little girl could not have done this? I don't think so, a giving nature always remains - that giving nature. Empathy.

Source(s): Isn't Miss Gem Wonderful? We have spoke a few times and her voice has such a rich timbre.

Answer 4

He spied the vagrant cowering in shadows by the stoop

He grabbed him by his thin lapels and hoisted him upright

Enraged, he wanted answers, and by God, he'd get some now

The girl's father struck the hobo's face with all his might

The vagrant spit his teeth into the snow and wondered how

He might survive the winter eating nothing but thin soup.

Answer 5

My goodness,does anyone even know THE LITTLE MATCHGIRL? ANYHOO,mR.eGGO,,i AM SITTING HERE IN A TANK TOP AFTER WORKING IN MY YARD ALL DAY.aLTHOUGH THE HUMIDITY has died,and I opened ALL my windows to air out the house,I was still perspiring-

until I read this poem. Thanks for the CHILL!

Source(s): 2 Rakes Up!!!