It’s said that Agatha Christie went missing for a short period of time and that no one has ever fully explained this…

In The Truth of Murder
by Michael Romani

The best of tales start at the beginning
Where we learn murder is often the wage for sinning
There it is said and perhaps it's just as well
Even in this sort of semi-cautionary tale

The truth of murder plays its hand
The real sleuth, she understands
That all of the pieces fit together
Like a jigsaw, only even better

Ink spills on an empty page
As the players assemble on this stage
Each it seems has their good reason
There at the summer's end of the season

Autumn it seems comes to fall
While the ghost of the wind comes to call
Murder she wrote until written no more
Like tiny hidden stains that beg for more

Memories called in remembrances' replies
Suddenly broken as her friend cries
There in the catch of the lover's voice
Is the stubborn fact that murder leaves no choice

Too many suspects with so little time
The authoress sets to solving her crime
Meaning so much while being so little
Stuck in the clues of her work, caught in the middle

Time passes as memories get older
All of the clues are growing much colder
A resolution to this mystery
Would be her lasting chance at legacy

The little girl inside her head
Reminds her its better to be alive than dead
Somewhere in that last will and testimony
The suspects are gathered in great acrimony

One of these it is who has done the deed
Of this much, it's indubitably agreed
But, then to the task as to which one
The solver of mysteries will not rest until she's done

(c)  February 1, 2019   Michael Romani
All Rights Reserved