Murderers

 He was my best and oldest friend.

I'd known him all my life.

And yet I'm sure towards the end
He knew I loved his wife,
And wonder, wonder if it's why
He came so dreadfully to die.


He drove his car at racing speed
And crashed into a tree.

How could he have so little heed?
A skillful driver he.

I think he must have found that day
Some love-letters that went astray.


I looked into the woman's eyes
And there I saw she knew.

There was no shadow of surmise, -
For her himself he slew:
That he might leave her free to wed
The "me" she worshipped in his stead.


She whispered as she bade me go:
"I think he found us out.
"
And in her face the hate and woe
Was his revenge, no doubt.

Life cannot link us .
 .
 .
 though glad-green
His grave - he stands between.

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