The Ring

From the hands of Death, I was born into greed,

And for the greed of man I would recycle death,

And from recycling death, I gave the reaper more souls.

Weighed down by my own great cycle of life.

From the soul of Tom Riddle, I was encircled by another,

And though it was dark, I was glad to have a brother.

And seeking my new companion was an old man,

Who broke us apart. I was alone once more.

From concealment I was turned, asked for one last favour,

And as his face shone with happiness, at last I could savour,

How my power had given him courage, not despair.

And as I fell to the ground,

I felt lighter than air.