A Thousand Little Ploys

You evil, you Boggart,

You thing made of pain,

Based of

Pixie sticks to delight,

But cause nothing

But spite,

Cause naught

But hate,

And leave in your path,

Whip us with irate

Manners and things,

All thimbles and toys;

But behind all the fake,

There’s a thousand

Little ploys.

The End

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