Goblet Of Fire Part 2 Poem by Ashleigh Michaud

A container of intricate designs,
Painted in brown swirls tracing lines;
The goblet, they call it, the goblet calls;
It glows with red and blue flames as it goes.
Petit in size, yet firm in stature and shape
Worth many meaninsgs to send one's mouth agape.
It rests upon the pedestal, emitting fear.
The fear of not being chosen; the riddle unclear;
Through the fire, it flies; that paper burned
His name was called; look how they spurned.
He walks through the doors, awaiting fate;
All the time wondering of the goblet's hate.
How did it choose him? And why, I would know?
The Goblet of Fire was bewitched as people came and go.
The boy who was called is perplexed by far.
However, that one glass of fire, bright as a star;
It sits on the stool, knowing the secret inside.
Abiding time mysteriously; the flames have died.
Luck lingers 'longside the boy;
The goblet, now dead, is just a ploy.