Cluedo's Shadowed Rooms
The mansion looms, a shadowed keep,
Where secrets slept and shadows creep.
A roll of dice, a whispered plea,
"Miss Scarlett in the Library?"
The little pawns, a painted crew,
Green, Plum, White, a somber hue.
Peacock's fan, a scarlet dress,
Each held a motive, more or less.
The cards held tight, a hidden hand,
Of weapon, room, and suspect planned.
The lead pipe cold, the dagger gleamed,
The revolver's tale, a silent screamed.
The study's gloom, the hall's long stride,
The lounge's fire where truths could hide.
The billiard room, a clicking sound,
As theories spun and doubts abound.
"I accuse Colonel Mustard bold,
With candlestick, a story told!"
A hopeful guess, a nervous breath,
Did justice triumph over death?
The secret envelope, the final clue,
Revealed the killer stark and true.
A moment's hush, a victor's grin,
The mystery solved, the game within.
O, Cluedo nights, a bygone age,
Where family gathered on life's stage.
The friendly feuds, the playful lies,
Reflected now in memory's eyes.
The cardboard rooms, the tiny tools,
A landscape built by childhood rules.
A whisper soft, "Perhaps the knife?"
Recalls a simpler sweeter life.
Though years have passed and times may change,
The thrill remains, a fond exchange.
Of whispered clues and knowing glance,
A nostalgic Cluedo trance.
©bfa041425
Copyright ©
Bernard F. Asuncion
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