THE 43RD HUNGER GAMES
I hear the pitter- patter of rain
Which sends the signs to my brain
To rise and drink
Throat parched
Stomach bare
I begin to drink
Turning to the side
A tribute, here alone
Raises his bow
But I am to quick
As the cannon sounds
A knife in the boys throat
Tears pour from my eyes
When they come to take me home
I manage to cry out
The one thing that will echo my every dream
Goodbye