Okay.... Here's my dissapointing poetry.
Snape's Roll
In his dungeon Poor Snape sits
He pauses when writing to think a bit
Pauses before his class is in
The class next he cannot win
"Then walkes in no mousy-Haired stranger
The smart young griffindor Hermione Granger
After her, a red head, Tall not stout
I fear he'll be dead before the year is out
And after him, the stupid one,
The stupid one with whom I have fun!
His boggart becomes me in a wig
Knows no difference between roots and a shrivelfig
Then He walkes in, thin and blonde
He walkes in a stiffels a yawn
The Slytherin you cannot miss
with whose face I would like to collide with my fist
Walkes in with his friends, big old lugs
Draco Malfoy and his gruesome thugs
Now here he comes, the celebrity,
So much better than you and me
Such an idiot, little rotter
James' son, Harold Potter"
Then he rises, class will begin
he teaches the class he cannot win.

More coming soon! :cat: