Quditch
Oh, what is this, noblest of sports,
A darning dance, an art of sorts.
In air, high as sun or moon,
As crowds below do cheer and swoon.
Four balls, players, seven,
A sport befitting those of heaven.
Each team plays for victory, to win,
To bring home glory to family and kin.
A ball of scarlet, biggest of four,
Twin balls of black, through air they soar.
A final ball of golden splendour,
The end of game when caught shall render.
Three chasers, throwing back the
red,Straight through the tall poles head.
Keeper strives to defend the goals,
While two beaters with bats beat away twin balls.
A final player, seeker by name,
Only cares upon one aim:
To catch the signal golden ball,
And bring in, in points, a mighty haul.
Oh, what is this, noblest of sports,
A darning dance, an art ofsorts.
In air, high as sun or moon,
As crowds below do cheer and swoon.