Promptly Potter. Day Twenty-Nine.
Where do they come from?
No one will say.
The letters from no one pile the floors.
They shoot through chimneys,
And windows and doors.
The letters from no one for the boy under the stairs.
He had no mail before now,
And eagerly awaits notes from whoever cares.
The letters from no one fly through the sky,
Owls crowd the dreary house,
And Harry need not wait for reasons why.