For so long she wept, forgotten by all.
Hermione’s woes sang of death, wearily:
Death had claimed all she loved, so unfairly.
There was nothing left, but from grace to fall.
Dressed in white, she leaned against the wall
The vial she held, taunted merrily,
It danced, imprisoned, glinting scarily.
Wondrous Death: for her, it came to call.
Meekly, unbearably, it begged her “drink,”
But feared death she did, and all it would bring.
She knew she was so much stronger than this.
Last longer she would ‘til death’s final kiss;
Longer she’d wait to hear angels sing.
The poison fell to the floor, with a clink.