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.