By the Author's Own Hand

Young man, sit down, a poem to write. I can't.  I've been thinking day and night. Go forth, then, to old man Palmer's field. That spooky place, ideas will yield. Inspiration from my brain to wring, what about the Addams family Thing? That gentleman was only one hand. I found the other on Palmer's land. Yes, ma'am, there it was, lying face up. This kind of thing, you just can't make up. At home, I put it by my rusty nails with my collection of lizard tails. I soon forgot it and went to sleep, and that hand wrote this poem, so deep. So, if you happen on a severed hand, he only hopes you will understand.