Her eyes were blue, her hair a raven's wing

Her skin was pale as snow

Her lips were red, ruby red

The weight of it, she did not know.

They called her Snow, Snow White

They never knew the truth

The evil of Snow, the story of Roses

She was sheltered by her youth.

When she was twelve, she heard the stories

Of love and hate, and the Games

She cried for them, and for the children

But some things couldn't change.

Now she knows about the nightmares

The days when he grips the chair

But it's easier now, to know the stories

She knows it, and she doesn't care.

Because her mother was a Mockingjay, and she is too

She learns to fly, because that's what Mockingjays do

She danced on a grave, that she knew

No longer a child, she's just Primrose Rue.

Just a little poem about Katniss' daughter. I'm seeing the midnight release tomorrow and I'm freaking out!