Pilots tell of a blinding death-white flash
Their vision lost, they swerve, they crash, they’re dead.
Through bulb or mirror this light does not pass
But instead, reflects off of your gleaming head.
You claim this sinister use as your intent
But we both know that this was never so
For I remember all your hours spent
With comb and mirror, smiling and groaning “Oh!”
The pills and creams such fruitless efforts bear,
The jars of Rogaine pile upon the floor
And poor, poor Voldemort, bereft of hair
Cries for the silky curls he’ll see no more
Your locks have moved on to a better place
And now I laugh into your hairless face.
Sonnets for Voldemort by Flobberworm93
Chapter Notes: Yay! After multiple drafts, sonnet #5 is finally here! And now there's only two more left! (I thought it would be fitting to do seven, and anyway, I'm running out of ideas)
I do not own Voldemort (even though that would be really awesome) or Rogaine.