The Great Game~

This is a poem my sister, Emma Catherine Smith, wrote.

A slight, deadly smile plays across his lips,

Composed and alert, he enters the room,

Slowly, hands clasped behind his back,

His piercing eyes search the gloom.

Erect and tall, arrogant at times,

Regal and proud, though inspiring as well.

Listening intently, sharp features lit in

Orange candlelight where beyond shadows dwell.

Coming to a halt he watches and waits,

Keen on meeting an old adversary.

The villain steps forth with hardly a sound,

His face bears a devious grin, but is wary.

He sees right through this criminal mastermind:

One tiny creature waiting to stir,

Lo, a crawling, cunning, conniving thing,

Man not at all, but a spider.

Eyes alight, the villain speaks,

“Sincerely, I’m glad you came.

You’re on the side of the angels, I hear,

So shall we begin the game?”

Deadly calm washes over the chamber

He waits a bit longer, then his patience is gone.

Facing his archenemy, he raises his voice,

“The game, Moriarty, is on!”