A little swarthy match-seller
with bare head and naked feet,
luck may lie in a pin.
An old mansion with thick, red walls.
“I know every stone of it,” says the wind.
They were a rich, noble family,
born in affluence and nurtured in luxury,
feasting on trout and goblets of wined.
Jittery, glittery, shivery,
my authentic delivery.