THE DEATH OF THE SECRET AGENT
                                                        For Henri Coulette


The agent's donned his last disguise.

The secret ring's gone underground.

Faces and facts melt down like lies;

and silence becomes the code for sound.


Intelligence, gathered, left behind,

half comforts our mere private griefs.

Agent, may your last mission find

those truths past truth, and bring you peace.



Copyright 2010-2012 Paul Petrie