They say that I'm a servant
And perhaps this much is true,
A servant to the Dark Lord, no,
Forever I serve you.

Even as your body rots
Beneath the cold, hard soil,
I serve you with a loyal heart
It's you for whom I toil.

Sometimes I start to wonder:
If words had not been said,
Would we be together now,
And would you not be dead?

I suppose it does not matter
And what is done, is done,
But when I die, just maybe
We can be forever one.

This poem would not submit with less than one hundred words, even though poetry is exempt from length restrictions.