A/N: Yes, dear readers, another poem. I'm on a roll aren't I?
Word Count: 171
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Sortings of a Riddle
Riddle me this,
Riddle me that,
Riddle was under the Thinking Cap.
"Oh dear boy, look what I see,"
Without an ounce of glee, said he.
"Your bright, oh yes, yet sinister too...
Whatever shall I do with you?"
Riddle's response was darker than black,
"Sort me you retched Hat!"
The dark haired boy with bloody eyes,
Was angry with his dispise.
The Thinking Hat was far too old,
Yet, this was the first child it had seen with a heart so cold.
"Your secrets are many, and carious in ways,
That not even I can say..."
"I'll tell you again, you ugly old thing,
If you don't sort me now, you'll soon find out that by all means,
I'll set you on fire and you continually burn,
Until your lesson is learned."
The childs eyes were glistening now,
And the Hat, so brown,
Made up his mind,
Before the Hat could use out his time.
"Slytherin!
Go now boy, but be warned:
Next time beware of who you scorn."
This Riddle is done,
This Riddle will shine,
But he will still loose,
Before he can find.