Just one drop,
That's all he asked for.
To feel the rain
Once more on his skin
And know that he
Was still alive.
Barty slipped his fingers
Through the metal bars
That covered the little window.
He couldn't reach the rain.
The hyena laughs
Of the mad and deranged
Never stop echoing
Around this god-forsaken place,
And the chill of the Dementors,
And the despair of the damned,
Hangs heavy in the air.
The cold stone wall is a comfort;
It reminds him he can still feel,
And as he lay his head against it,
He tried to remind himself why he was there:
To wait for his master to rise yet again.
But his master could not see
What Barty saw.
Barty saw the rain
Falling in sheets of brilliant silver.
Barty saw the ocean
Rising against the rock.
Barty saw no freedom
From his little cell in Azkaban.
And Barty saw no hope
Of touching the rain again.
Slender fingers strained
Against the heavy, restricting bars;
The moonlight teased
The pale and weakening skin,
And the fingers stretched farther
To try and grasp the rain.
Another cold chill
Rushes down Barty's spine
And the Dementor at his door
Steals his happiness again.
As he sinks to the floor,
The pale fingers retract.
He forgot why the rain had given him
Any brief delight.
It was only rain
And to try to touch it
Was a futile attempt.
A frail figure,
Whose life was almost gone,
Lay broken on the floor
Of his little cell in Azkaban.
His hands were dry and empty
Of the liquid hope falling outside.
His eyes were dull
And void of life.
The rain still hit
The stone outside,
But Barty was denied his
Just One Drop.