My First Day at Hogwarts

By Yash Singh (Checkpoint)

On a Saturday morning,

I woke up in pain.

Perched on top of my head,

Was an owl shaking its mane.

As I focused my glance,

The owl got clearer.

There was something clutched in its beak;

A pale yellow letter.

When I opened it,

Words started to bloom,

Mr. Y. Vartak,

The inner bedroom.

‘You have a place

In Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,

Points will be taken for wrong,

And awarded for bravery.’

I showed it to my parents,
Who were not at all surprised.

They were in fact very happy,

I am a wizard I realized!

We took a plane to London,

To visit Diagon Alley.

In a hurry to buy my first wand,

Robes and stationery.

It was first of September,

So we hurried to Kings Cross.

We got to platform nine and three quarters,

After struggling through a chaos.

I had everything in my trunk,

I had nothing more to get.

My parents surprised me,

By giving me an owl as a pet.

I got a seat in the Hogwarts Express,

And put on my robes,

There was a boy opposite me,

He was juggling bewitched globes.

We got off the train,

At Hogsmeade Station.
There was an amazing castle,

That was beyond my imagination.

We rowed across the lake,

Sitting on boats,

It was getting colder,

So we pulled on our coats

We entered the hall,

Which was full of staring eyes.

There was a roof above us,

That represented the skies.

There was a dusty hat,

In the middle of a stage,

It had a rip near the brim,

So it looked older than its age.

A professor named Minerva,

Put that hat on my head.

The rip opened like a mouth,

“Interesting”, is what it said.

The Sorting Hat as it was called,

Said that he had to think some more,

After a while it yelled:

“He’ll go in GRYFFINDOR!”

I joined the Gryffindor,

At the Start-Of-Term Feast.

We were so involved in talking,

We cared for our sleep the least.

After the feast we departed,

For Gryffindor Common Room,

Ouside the portrait hole there was,

A shiny black broom.

I changed into my nightdress,

And lay down watching the dying ember.

My eyelids were getting heavier,

As I driftes into deep slumber.

This poem is written by me,

Yash Singh.

Especially penned for my favorite,

Joanne Kathleen Rowling.