Aberforth Dumbledore, to his story do hark,
Loved his brother, sister and mother (in the usual fashion)
Loved his dad and bartending (in the dark)
And yet there was nothing for which he harbored greater passion

As a pretty little goat with a silky white beard
Nobody could say how he wound up so smitten
But Albus' kid brother was very certainly weird
(And we do say 'kid' brother 'cause it was utterly fittin')

Now Aberforth was not at all like his brother
(And some even wondered, was he true Dumbledore kin?)
He'd be a Muggle goat-herder if given his druthers
And his cherished-most dreams were what some called a sin

He'd come from the country, he'd learned very little
Never learning to read (or even Scourgify)
While Albus solved magic's old greatest riddles
Aberforth swept with a broom, rather than fly

From Godric's Hollow to Hogsmeade he was quite reknowned
Not for being the brother of the man who ran Hogwarts
But for being the man who kept all them ruddy goats around
Now he served some fine Butterbeer and Firewhisky imports

But lo, 'twas for naught if you're like most of us
With a stomach that churns at the unique aroma
Of Perfume de Capra Aegagrus Hircus
(Closed windows in Hog's Head put a few in a coma)

They said he was crazy, they said he was madder
Than even old Moody or St. Mungo's worst
But with his dear goat, none of that mattered
For his cloven-hooved love always came first

His obsession did not stop at his first Nanny-Goat
Nor could it be sated with a mere Billy or Kid
His herd numbered hundreds, and on each he did dote
Both domestics and exotics (from Tibet to Madrid)

From svelte snow-whites to stub-horned gruff beasts
To bawling young kids who'd eat only sugar beets
Even the Wizard-bred types bearing vanishing fleece
Each one was unique and he loved all the breeds

But alas, his four-hoofed beloved was markedly cursed
For one day something happened, something quite bad
It's been told its mere mention can cause an outburst
Among goblins or elves (and make trolls really quite mad)

By the words of ye olde Daily Prophet, it does sound quite tame
But these days we know better, we've learned the whole truth
For a few charms on a goat, he was arrested in shame
Inappropriate, they claimed, but it was far more uncouth

You see, Aberforth held what gentlewizards call grudges
Against all the people who'd ever sneered at his goats
To him, 'twas an offense greater than could be settled by judges
So he took his great herd for parts more remote

And there he did things a scribe should ne'er need scribe
But to set all things straight, I'll push my quill on
Sure, Voldie was bad, but it's tough to describe
The evilest evils Aberforth called upon

Hidden by glades, bush, forest and by den
Not one single wizard saw him undertake
To teach all his goats to do his whim and biddin'
For nothing much else but his own dastardly sake

You see, he had planned, schemed and devised
To breed them with giants, those horrible beasts
And the kids would grow bigger, to monstrous size
And bad as it sounds, it's but the least

You see, he'd quite trained them to do as he pleased
And with but one taste of a wand, splintered and old
He'd given them a hunger which could only increase
And with each little nibble, they grew ever more bold

'Til they'd wander through moors at half-past midnight
At the promise of wand-wood and a pat from their master
Even goat-sized goats posed quite a fright
Giant-sized goats would be an historic disaster

And there, my dear readers, we may sigh relieved
That Aberforth's ignorance was his final downfall
For giants, to be sure, barely stop killing to breed
With each other, let alone something bleating and small

Aberforth brought his goats, the giants grunted at first
Then confused and stupid, they quickly did kill
As giants will do, with their e'er bloody thirst
They killed and they killed, they killed as they willed

A goatly hunger for wands was simply no match
For the giants' bloodlust and their big beefy hands
(That crushed half a dozen goats in each greedy snatch)
Aberforth could but run 'til he reached safer lands

Without his dear goats, Aberforth grieved
He was quite alone and he did quite despair
He'd little recourse but to return to Hogsmeade
Sure as Goblins, the ministry'd caught him right there

But Albus the noble and Albus the great
Took pity on him and advised he should omit
A few details for want of a much kinder fate
So he told the press only half of what he did commit

Still, the Prophet reporters came away dazed
Blushing, stammering (and speechless no less)
Deciding it best that his story's lightly phrased
Vague without every single point quite addressed

But it wasn't for Aberforth or even famed Albus
That kept off the pages Aberforth's full confess
But rather because some things are best not discussed
Within the clean pages of a proper family press.