Twas a night full of stars on a pale Yorkshire moor
When the master of tales thus created Dumbledore
With a sprinkle of magic and a flick of the pen
Weaved a tale of endurance on the heather filled glen
I like to think of this, makes me warm head to toe
Butterbeer of literature, two enemies, their foe
But the truth is it was written on a coffee-shop table
No sky and no stars, just a silk ridden fable
Resting with coffee, refilled on the hour
Was how the dark lord, Voldemort, came to power
Not romantic, not sweet, and its not the ideal
Place to write a book; though however you feel
It is not the author I write of tonight
Its her imagination; a different type
Of personality and of brilliant minds that create
People inches from life and to decide their fate
Liken Miss JK to an artist or sculptor
Inventing and crafting a whole different culture
She started from scratch, and she owns the being
Of HP and others, and she is all seeing
Owns the inner eye of the world she will despense
She can hear, she can smell, she can see, she can sense
Rowling exists in her characters minds
Dig deeper, a reward, and gold you will find
She's a poet, an artist, a fabulous author
Built a bare boned world up from metaphorical mortar
Although there is nothing else that can be said
Don't read this poem when HPs can be read!
A/N: D'ya like it? Please R/R whatever. Just a quick note to two of my most faithful reviewers, Davita and Lili, among others. Please check out their work, its all fantastic! Apologies to all reviewers who haven't been mentioned. :)
When the master of tales thus created Dumbledore
With a sprinkle of magic and a flick of the pen
Weaved a tale of endurance on the heather filled glen
I like to think of this, makes me warm head to toe
Butterbeer of literature, two enemies, their foe
But the truth is it was written on a coffee-shop table
No sky and no stars, just a silk ridden fable
Resting with coffee, refilled on the hour
Was how the dark lord, Voldemort, came to power
Not romantic, not sweet, and its not the ideal
Place to write a book; though however you feel
It is not the author I write of tonight
Its her imagination; a different type
Of personality and of brilliant minds that create
People inches from life and to decide their fate
Liken Miss JK to an artist or sculptor
Inventing and crafting a whole different culture
She started from scratch, and she owns the being
Of HP and others, and she is all seeing
Owns the inner eye of the world she will despense
She can hear, she can smell, she can see, she can sense
Rowling exists in her characters minds
Dig deeper, a reward, and gold you will find
She's a poet, an artist, a fabulous author
Built a bare boned world up from metaphorical mortar
Although there is nothing else that can be said
Don't read this poem when HPs can be read!
A/N: D'ya like it? Please R/R whatever. Just a quick note to two of my most faithful reviewers, Davita and Lili, among others. Please check out their work, its all fantastic! Apologies to all reviewers who haven't been mentioned. :)