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The silent song of Chester Gray, 
a murderous affair 
This quiet soul of little word, 
not known of him to share 
This eve upon a moaning moor, 
a pier of rotted wood 
A body lay alone and cold, 
where life it once had stood 

The corpse was clothed, though not its own 
a size or two, too small 
And shoeless, showing socks so worn, 
though mud, no sand did call 
A male, of middle, weathered age, 
long years did take their toll 
A day or two or three or more, 
did lay this empty soul 

While Chester Gray, his monocle 
upon his eye did rest 
Did query, what’s before us now, 
does lie, this I attest  
The clues, a simple clump of straw, 
a rope of equal length 
A note, in scribbled written verse, 
poetic movement strength 

No grave nor stone nor herald gear, 
nor silhouette of grief 
A coin of gold, upon each eye, 
the night’s profound relief 
“It seems this man of pauper means 
did owe a mighty sum 
To one who held his fist indeed, 
a' fueled by demon rum 
 
You’ll note, the straw, this bolt of beige, 
once tended with a knot 
A piece of rope, of cuttered means, 
not something soon forgot” 
And last this verse, poetic bard, 
or something penned of greed 
More so, a riddle, lines of fate 
alas, this he did read 

“Not straw, nor rope, nor empty purse, 
lost wages passed as sin 
Shall prove so wicked as the curse, 
this eve to soon begin 
Whence deathly sound of piper’ s roam, 
midst shadows cast o’ long 
Thy fail to pay, shall breathe the end 
and lonely silent song” 
 
Now Chester Gray did ponder of 
the stanza’d messaged theme 
Through quiet thought and gestures slow, 
his eyes this night did gleam 
Oh woe is he who fails to heed 
the hand before his heart 
With motions tainted endlessly 
of monies not to part  
 
The straw, it comes a flute to bear 
within a case of wood 
Once fastened with a silken rope, 
before this soul had stood 
Each coin a symbol of the wealth, 
which promises had placed 
tween loans now strolling in default 
and debts long now erased 

The culprit a musician, for the tune 
has since been met 
About the head a beating 
and the clothes of sad regret 
The only thing of fortune   
that the murderer did chose 
The victim he was found to wear, 
the most expensive shoes 

This perpetrator, you will find, 
with flute he cannot lose 
Just seek the one, the one alone, 
to wear expensive shoes 
And find as the solution 
to this deadly dark display 
That all must pay the piper 
‘fore the silent song does play
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