What gave you heart,
What have you must to
Give, to stand here so
Strong before me?
Whisper not,
Poor Lily,
You leave me speechless
Your figure frail . . .
Veiled in hell,
Lost at this mighty hand,
You stand,
For Lily still not far away,
What give you hope to
Tremble that lovely chin that I so
Dearly cup and squeeze in pain?
You silly twit or maybe . . .
Tinged in fear, the wild cries as air
Was still to give you the moment
Of rage to touch his delicate forehead?
Fall away for shall
You turn away, as I will watch
You grimly shatter from my way?
As love became my devour,
The cursed bolt of lightening . . .
Purity bathed between his
Tightened hands . . .
For your son that Harry Potter,
I will return,
While you wonder in your grave . . .
Could not Lily fly away?