Isabel next door

I remember Isabel like it was just yesterday... but it wasn't.

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Ben and I, acquaintances, true.

Some might say, to part - be blue.

When in the morn, a word lips passed,

to mention, to tell of murder, I gasped.

Not he, not I, not friend or foe,

sharp tongue let fly by he who knows.

Ben, he continued, his tale to tell,

what knowledge he harboured, of Isabel.

Not his wife or friend but neighbour.

Who's world had ended, before she was able.

A yell or a holler would have lessen her fate.

But as Ben did say, it was just too late.

Isabel, Isabel, who lived by the well.

That evening she met, intruder, then fell.

As Ben continued, my ears they wept.

For the fate of his neighbour, who should have just slept.

Through the night, if only she'd snoozed,

instead of inspecting and looking for clues.

Oh Isabel my dear, I knew you not.

Ben however, knew quite a lot.

Quite probably more than most suspected,

he knew her well, from window, inspected.

The story continued as tension built,

he knew how to tell ‘em, without a tilt.

Who had she met, the question lingered,

waiting for Ben to point a finger.

Tell us the villain, the scoundrel, I shouted,

who ended a life, down a well, I spouted?

Twas none other, Ben declared, the blackbird from town, with the specs and the stare.

Calum, I raged, that well known thickit,

eats all it spys, the failure, the sticket.

But Isabel? My thoughts, confused.

Her shell, her armour, protection fused.

Dear Ben, did Calum realise not,

when eating shell, must swallow the lot?

Indeed, agreement, the confirmation.

Calum, he said failed contemplation.

Unable, said Ben, to swallow a shell,

Calum just dropped her, she bounced down the well.