The Ickabog

by J.K. Rowling

“At the dawn of time, when only Ickabogs existed, stony Man was not created, with his Cold, flint-hearted ways, Then the world in its perfection Was like heaven’s bright reflection No one hunted us or harmed us In those lost, beloved days. Oh Ickabogs, come Bornding back, Come Bornding back, my Ickabogs. Oh Ickabogs, come Bornding back, Come Bornding back, my own. Then tragedy! One stormy night, Came Bitterness, Bornded of Fright And Bitterness, so tall and stout, Was different from its fellows. Its voice was rough, its ways were mean, The likes of it had not been seen Before, and so they drove it out With angry blows and bellows. Oh Ickabogs, be Bornded wise, Be Bornded wise, my Ickabogs. Oh Ickabogs, be Bornded wise, Be Bornded wise, my own. A thousand miles from its old home Its Bornding time arrived, alone In darkness, Bitterness expired And Hatred came to being. A hairless Ickabog, this last, A beast sworn to avenge the past, With bloodlust was the creature fired, Its evil eye far-seeing. Oh Ickabogs, be Bornded kind, Be Bornded kind, my Ickabogs. Oh Ickabogs, be Bornded kind, Be Bornded kind, my own. Then Hatred spawned the race of man, ’Twas from ourselves that man began, From Bitterness and Hate they swelled To armies, raised to smite us. In hundreds, Ickabogs were slain, Our blood poured on the land like rain, Our ancestors like trees were felled And still men came to fight us. Oh Ickabogs, be Bornded brave, Be Bornded brave, my Ickabogs. Oh Ickabogs, be Bornded b...