By thirty was quite bitten
You might say I was in a fix
You might say I was smitten
It was Miss Marple snared me first
(as could have been predicted)
And soon, for better or for worse
I was indeed addicted.
Hercule Poirot, the Beresfords too
Became my favorite friends
I followed all their exploits through
to neatly tied up ends.
I learned to look for subtle hints
Clues dropped amongst the knitting
Murderers painted in innocent tints
And victims, all unwitting.
From Styles to old St. Mary Mead
From Egypt to the Isthmus
'Twas great adventure, each new read
'Twas the Night-Before-Agatha-Christmas
I know I failed to face the fact
It all would end someday
What I would do then, how I'd act,
I just refused to say.
I kept on jumping round about
'Twixt murder, crime and mystery
Lost in a web of suspicion and doubt
Engulfed in Agatha Christery.
But now the unread stock did shrink
New ones were hard to find.
I panicked-couldnt even think!
I feared I'd lose my mind.
There weren't too many left, I knew
No more would join the list
All that remained for me to do
Was find the few I'd missed
I marked them off, then, one by one
Three left, then two-one-NO!
I couldn't let the thing be done...
I put the book down-so-
I have it still, and still unread
Unopened in my drawer
It lives, where all the rest are dead
Mysterious no more.
I treasure it, like something rare
And muse about it wistfully
What devious puzzles hide in there?
All woven so Agatha Christfully?
The title, now- what might it mean?
Who will the villain be?
What house will figure in the scene?
Will everyone have tea?
Will I see the light before the end?
Will I even see a flicker?
Can I guess whodunit? No, my friend
But I know it's not the vicar.
Should I read- and cease to speculate-
My dreams would be diminished
It's more fun to anticipate
Than partake and then be finished.
The book's a symbol now, a token,
Like an eagle or a thistle
Gleaming, bright, intact, unbroken
My jewel! My Agatha Crystal!
