I stare down at the grassy hill, below my trembling feet.
The person they're describing was one I didn't ever meet.
Brave, noble, trusting. Their idea of a few words.
Nitwit, blubber, oddment, and tweak, are the ones we knew him by.
When I think of those four words, I gulp; try not to cry.
Look in the eyes of Harry, for a nonverbal understanding.
Never thought we'd learn it, when the life of someone was landing.
Murdered by past Potions teacher, he stood tall until the last,
The last moment of his life, until that fateful, bright green flash.
We know that he's not gone, as long as loyalty remains still.
And now that we must keep his memory alive, I know that it will.
Harry was the last to speak, to this great, but odd professor.
He must be crying as hard as me, or maybe even harder.
McGonagall's headmistress now, norm'lly she'd be glad.
But now nothing can suppress the feeling for Snape: Just plain mad.
Hagrid and Grawp come down the line, tears sweeping away the dust,
His body's on the pedastal, look at it we must,
'Til it bursts in many flames, with song of phoenix lust.
The ministry looks shocked, my brother wrinkles his nose.
But the students of this teacher, thinks it's a poem, with pretty prose.
They'll try and take it to their advantage, enable us useless;
But we know they'll cower, unlike this man; he was the best.
Brave, noble, twinkling, now we may not win the war.
Charming, friendly, trusting, his name was Dumbledore.
The White Tomb by StellaSirius
Chapter Notes: Disclaimer: This is, sadly, not my idea. J. K. Rowling created all the characters. But I did write the poem.