ANONYMOUS TIP
I knew who wrote me, though it was not signed.
A friend who wanted only to be kind
but never noticed that his words maligned
me more than all my enemies combined.
A man who'd been my guest, politely dined
beneath my roof, but in his note seemed blind
to how his words might place me in the bind
of having to react, though disinclined,
to what his words had planted in my mind.
I trusted her. Our lives were intertwined
with love that God's best angels had designed
and eighteen years of marriage had refined.
My friendship, not my love, was undermined.
I burned the note and left my friend behind.
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