Sweet Aberline

Some will know exactly who I speak of, and then again some won't.

Detective Aberline,

Who's sickening shrieks rang out when you were just six.

They echoed throughout that stony room.

You remember clearly.

Playing among Old London streets and coming home,

Day dreams of hot soup and mummy's warm embrace...

Bloody masacre settling in the cracks of the wood,

In the mortar between bricks,

In the last meal father ever earned,

mother ever made.

You did well for yourself,

On tea ships day n' night.

Learning the secrets to tea and ship work.

Now look,

One of Scotland Yards top detectives.

Working on the Opium Candy Case.

Interrogating young nobles of thirteen years.

Who's parents shared the same pre-mature death in cold blood.

A young Chinese pimp, 20 years of age.

Soon to murder you at the hands of his sword.

Poor, sweet Aberline,

Who's wife be expecting,

Who's wife be weeping.

Here's to you,

Detective Aberline.

Reviews

[FictionAsVeneer]

Well, first off, I'd like to say that your poem is a win right off the bat because after reading it, captive by illustrious words I wish were longer, I actually decided to look into and read the entire Wikipedia page of this man! Obviously, I should have had knowledge of him HAHA, but thanks for bringing it into light for me. Great job. I felt the story was far more in depth than the Wiki page itself and was actually more interesting to read. Cheers. (I'm not British, but Abberline is).

[Von Alis]

I cried when he died, and then cried again just because.... Great job