O dear deceptive Dame Agatha Christie,
Mistress of the mis-direction;
Master of the clue so misty—
Unequaled in mystery detection;
It is a mystery cliché
But one must suspect the unsuspected;
Like an early snow that will not lay
Upon the ground melting unmolested;
From And Then There Were None
To Why Didn’t They Ask Evans?
Like an elaborate web that’s spun
By a suspenseful spider of the heavens—
Many times I’ve been entangled
On a sticky plot that she has dangled!
Copyright © 2011 by Shawn Matthew Hannigan