Her books were fables told throughout the land
Her monetary gains Smaug’s golden hoard
New babies bore the storybook names and
Her magic castle never left them bored.
Her hands were wands, spinning spells with each word
Her eyes, crystal balls, saw more than revealed
Her ears magic radios, wherein she heard
Strange characters - their fate already sealed.
Her lips like vaults. She kept her secrets in
‘Til days came when Harry’s story was done.
Now magic sits forgotten in a bin
While Cuckoos fly and Vacancies are won.
Never again will Harry’s broomstick soar,
But yet, Ms. Rowling, we wish there were more.
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