Voldemort rants in verse about Harry Potter.
To my soul-devouring hate
Of a nasty little pest,
One that always does his best
To foil my insidious schemes,
And who, as people tell me, dreams
To do to me what I once tried
To do to him, and nearly died.
A shadow of myself, I hid
For many years, and no one did
Come to my aid. Because of him
I had to live a life most grim.
And then he snatched from me the Stone
That I had worked so hard to own,
And thus prevented my return.
A year later, he did burn
A smoking, venom-dripping hole
Right through a piece of my own soul.
In spite of this, I rose again
And dealt him a lot of pain.
Yet once again he got away,
And my return this did betray.
And after that I was to find
That he had access to my mind!
I used this link, the boy to lure
Into a trap, and to procure
Through him the prophecy, which had
Made me desire to see him dead
In the first place. But it got smashed,
And once again my plans were dashed.
Enraged, I tried to kill the whelp,
But he got unexpected help.
He cannot even be possessed:
He's full of love, which I detest.
I'm getting tired of this game;
The very sound of his name
Fills me with hatred so intense
It interferes with my sense.
Why is it that he can't be killed?
What kind of evil force does shield
Him from my just retaliation?
What is the x in the equation
That all my power cannot solve?
These are the questions I revolve
Over and over in my mind,
But cannot any answer find.
Is this a punishment, o Heaven?
I guess I'll learn that in Book Seven.