But come autumn, what do I hear?

"Oh Sorting Hat, you're the best!"

Do it again, put our minds at rest!"

Where were they in May, June and July?

As the days, the weeks, the months drag by?

Until this fateful, happy day,

When I finally get to have my say.

This is the highlight of my year,

I lead a tragic life, I fear.

But I'm not bitter; no I'm not,

(Though all the teachers can go and rot).

Instead of blindly doing my task,

I thought I would unselfishly ask,

What all the returning students think,

And whether they are bored to the brink.

They suffer through it again and again,

The seventh years must be going insane.

So to wake everyone from their trance,

I will now perform a break dance.