Reading Rebus
We’re reading some Rebus
Connecting up dots
It bends us, it weaves us
In all sorts of knots.
The writer is laughing
We’ve misread the clues
The motive is baffling
One more we change views.
We quickly turn pages
And wait for the twist
But Rebus he taunts us
A flick of the wrist.
He sits in his glory
An Edinburgh bar
Sir Ian shapes our story
While sipping his jar.
And we’re hung out to dry
We’re tortured with doubt
And as hard as we try
We can’t work it out.
The final page greets us
The truth a sharp sting
And Rebus, he saves us
And Rankin’s still king.
Copyright © Peter Mccluskey | Year Posted 2023
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