I shouldn’t have to wonder—yet I do—

What horrible misdeed they think was done.

It must be dreadful, certainly undue

Perhaps a thing untoward, and to be shunned.

To cut off contact, quickly, as they did

There must have been a lie as quick as sand

A story without bottom, without lid

Withdrawing graceful heart and helping hand.

The truth is but a tender, fragile thing

How twisted and corrupted it becomes

When men who wish you harm let lies take wing

Or worse, implant the falsehood in the gun.

What do they think? Who cares? I know what’s true,

And one day maybe they will know it too.