Lavender Brown smells the soulful scent
of how her money shall be spent.
She sees a hopeful spire
of what hers and Ron's love requires,
cemented in an encasement of an aroma
of how she wants their days to exhibit in a diarama.
She sees them dancing beautifully
in a snowglobe as true to be
in mirroring their lives' content
when that flower opened up to her in a scent,
which spoke serenely to her sighing
of how this purchase shall be so satisfying.
She wraps the signet in an intone
of a shackle that lets it be known
how Ron shall never, ever be alone.