The Weaver

In Hogsmeade once there lived a witch.
She was not cute nor was she rich,
Yet on her cloth she could quite stitch;
The Weaver was her name.

This Weaver sewed with care and grace.
She darned her cloth and wove her lace,
And on each one a spell did place,
For which she gained great fame.

One day she wove a scene so fine,
She said, “This one is truly mine!�
And cast a spell with one keen rhyme,
Then waited for her wish.

From the cloth there stepped a man.
Into his arms she quickly ran,
And thus their love affair began
With one long lingering kiss.

But no! She left out one sure thing:
Her man had no sweet bells to ring.
And so they could not have their fling,
For he was quite unable.

His pleasing face did not attract;
She missed the love he sorely lacked.
So to the cloth she sent him back:
Thus ends the Weaver’s tale.

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