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