Insulted Witch Laura, temper flaring,
Sorely slighted on a path most daring.
The slighting Man she doomed to linger,
On this path, keeping his arms and fingers.
Laura forever waits for victims unknowing,
She’ll take only hands, hot blood flowing.
Slighters walking this way better beware,
This idyllic lane is now called Despair.
You must fear this path soaked in red,
Even deadly Ghosts have chosen to fled.
Hands reach out from Hell to grab,
Clawing fingers to scratch and stab.
Big hands, small hands, young and old,
Wrinkled and smooth, with stories untold.
Poem by Tiff the Traveler