Every English Mystery Limerick
My favorite mystery writer is the great Agatha Christie. I don’t know what it
is about mysteries and word games that go so well together. Maybe a puzzle is a
puzzle. Agatha used nursery rhymes and children’s songs in her books. Lots of
modern mysteries in the “cozy” style are based on puns and word games; also
cats and food. What’s not to love? For myself, I’m fond of limericks. But so far as
I know, Christie never wrote a story composed entirely of them. I have taken the
liberty of filling the gap.
Every English Mystery
In England the corpses abound
They’re often in libraries found
The doors are all locked
The windows are blocked
No footprints appear on the ground.
Dear Edgar is dead! The wife cries.
The son disbelieves her fake sighs
The servants agree
The wife’s lover must be
The person who caused the demise.
A brilliant detective is called
Because the police have been stalled
He questions the lover,
The servants, the brother
And even the priest, who’s appalled.
The lover gets all of the money!
About the will something is funny,
He sips wine with panache
And talks about cash
Then dies. Poison’s bad for the tummy.
The household erupts in hysteria
A clue is among the wisteria
The culprit’s not me!
It’s she or it’s he!
Can nobody solve the mysteria?
The detective is hot on the track
To prevent another attack
But the gardener’s shot
And this thickens the plot
He thinks while he munches a snack.
To the parlor all suspects invited
All nervous, but one truly frighted
Many secrets revealed
And nothing concealed
But no one so far is indicted
The detective drones on while they sit
Some thinking, “This man is a twit,”
Then he suddenly cries,
“There is one here who lies!”
And points! “Tis the Butler who dun it!”
All gasp! Then Jeeves goes quite zonkers,
But they stop him–because justice conquers
He says he’s the true heir
And nothing is fair
It’s clear the poor man has gone bonkers.
And this is the end of the tale
This story, it never grows stale
They drink lots of tea
Amidst secrecy
And the good guys will win without fail.
is about mysteries and word games that go so well together. Maybe a puzzle is a
puzzle. Agatha used nursery rhymes and children’s songs in her books. Lots of
modern mysteries in the “cozy” style are based on puns and word games; also
cats and food. What’s not to love? For myself, I’m fond of limericks. But so far as
I know, Christie never wrote a story composed entirely of them. I have taken the
liberty of filling the gap.
Every English Mystery
In England the corpses abound
They’re often in libraries found
The doors are all locked
The windows are blocked
No footprints appear on the ground.
Dear Edgar is dead! The wife cries.
The son disbelieves her fake sighs
The servants agree
The wife’s lover must be
The person who caused the demise.
A brilliant detective is called
Because the police have been stalled
He questions the lover,
The servants, the brother
And even the priest, who’s appalled.
The lover gets all of the money!
About the will something is funny,
He sips wine with panache
And talks about cash
Then dies. Poison’s bad for the tummy.
The household erupts in hysteria
A clue is among the wisteria
The culprit’s not me!
It’s she or it’s he!
Can nobody solve the mysteria?
The detective is hot on the track
To prevent another attack
But the gardener’s shot
And this thickens the plot
He thinks while he munches a snack.
To the parlor all suspects invited
All nervous, but one truly frighted
Many secrets revealed
And nothing concealed
But no one so far is indicted
The detective drones on while they sit
Some thinking, “This man is a twit,”
Then he suddenly cries,
“There is one here who lies!”
And points! “Tis the Butler who dun it!”
All gasp! Then Jeeves goes quite zonkers,
But they stop him–because justice conquers
He says he’s the true heir
And nothing is fair
It’s clear the poor man has gone bonkers.
And this is the end of the tale
This story, it never grows stale
They drink lots of tea
Amidst secrecy
And the good guys will win without fail.
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