Murder Poem by Shaun Cronick

This poem has a point,
That is honed at it's end.
For murder is most foul,
So let us not pretend.

A body in the ballroom,
Dear departed in the billiard room.
Dead meat in the dining room,
These rooms are all a tomb.

Late lamented in the library,
A stiff in the study.
A carcass in the cellar,
This house so vile and bloody.

A corpse in the conservatory,
Now deceased in the hall.
And a goner in the study.
Cruel Cluedo does enthral!