litter on my mind

Litter on my mind

When I walk into the garden of my mind
I sometimes pick up weeds that must be rid of in the cold light of sanity.
A person, from the past, sent me a rancid email claimed
I had been lying when  telling him I had crossed the Sahara barefoot when it was a simple spelling mistake
He also claimed that I had only been a cobbler's assistant and that knew nothing about upper soles of
clogs; it is a mystery how he found out I thought my abstract world was mine alone.
I'm told the rude, offensive person dabbles in electric matters.
I played with the idea of writing a devastating  riposte
to this person, but two hurt people do not make one
person sane
I dignified silence is the best answer.