At the house of Dursley, on Privet Drive
Nothing is fair and nowhere to hide
He is the servant,the thing the freak
He feels now that this is his peak
Nothing better will ever come his way
No acknowledgement or congrads on this day
Today is his birthday, the eleventh one at that
No presents, no cake e thought as he sat
Under the stairs in a cupboard he is,
The only place that he could call his
Spiders and dark it might be
But it was Harry potter santuary
Free from Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and Dudley
How could I end up here he thought dullily
He crept on out of his cupboard that morning
Looking around for a sign or a warning
The Dursley's were eating in the kitchen down the hall
The were no decorations, no balloons at all
He looked to his right where the front door stood
Seeing a mailman conceled by a hood
And also somethig swooped in from behind
An owl was there that acted nothing like its kind
It pushed a letter throught he mail slot
And there Harry stood frozen in shock
First by the owl's such strange action
Then by something else but only for a fraction
He looked from the window to the curious letter
He stepped closer to the door for his look to be better
No, it had not been a trick of the light
His name on that letter he saw within sight
He walked toward the post cautious and slow
Wo would write to him? But soon he would know
He entered the kithcen and set down the mail
Rereading the word as slow as a snail
Could it really be his? What was it for?
Too bad the letter was knocked to the floor
Pudgey Dudley rushed to it and started to read
"It's for him!" ,Dudley said but there was no need
Uncle vernon snatched the letter in a flash
"No! It can't be! Balderdash!"
As quick as the shape of harry's scar
Uncl eVernon pulled back his arm very far
He the ntossed the letter into the fire
An dpushed Harry out of the room to conspire
Strong grief fell over that poor boy, Harry
He did't deserve thi , he was never treated fairly