Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine.

This is a poem about flying in a Quidditch match.

Rushing free
Flying by
Anything
Just as high

The balls are up
Flying round
Through the hoops
And to the ground

The mean ones hit
Once in a while
Like a vile crocodile

Sweetest snitch
Powder wings
Nothings truly as it seems

150 points to win
Just to feel your beating wings

Dare to fly
Against the wind

And maybe you might win

Whatever. I tried. :-D.