Ode to Black
His heart is black in name alone,
Though he may not be an angel;
He loved to play tricks just for fun,
But never was it lethal.
His friends were Marauders,
His love was not known,
His grades were the highest
Among the ones shown.
So why did they catch him?
Oh poor little Black:
They think you are guilty
When evidence they lack.
Oh why did you die?
You fought with good reason,
But never did gain
Any pardon from treason.
This ode is to Black,
Of whom you may know.
And if you do not,
Then you're very slow.
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Hi! This is the author of this poem!...Is it author or writer? Ah well. Anyways, I personally think my writing is horrible. Did this poem seem as horrible to you as it did to me? I keep thinking,"I can do better than that!"but then I can't...Um, well anyway, please review!