Even as a young child the narrow lane
was a place of fear.
I'm never at ease when I come back
and travel the route.
Nothing has changed that I can tell
a path to a dark spell.

My parents farm is situated at the end
called hangman's noose!
Which made me curious why this name
had always been used.
Often I'd seen a lone woman walking
but faded as I tried talking!

My friends had seen her to and reluctant
to tread that path again.
None of the locals ventured along there
the superstition ran deep.
Strangers often took the wrong turning
tyre rubber soon burning!

Though not all got safely back on track
some swerved and crashed!
Into an old tree halfway along the lane
none of them survived.
Stories written of malevolent forces
told to me by reliable sources!

Never in my memory did I ever feel alone
going down the narrow lane.
Oppressive and barren voices in the breeze
my parents still live there.
They knew more of its past than they'd say
our ancestors under the lane lay!

My father said for sinful deeds they'd done
this would be your curse to son!

What these were the answers I've yet to discover!

The Foureyed Poet.