(Alternate version of Robert Frost poem for Rep. Phil Hart)
Whose woods these are I think I know,
their office is in Boise though;
they will not see me stopping here
to cut trees for my bungalow.
My followers won't think it queer
to take some logs while no one's near
off property I do not own -
they re-elect me every year.
They give their tin foil hats a shake
to indicate there's no mistake;
the only other sound's the sweep
that drooling on the ground will make.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
but I have court dates I must keep;
and logs to take before I sleep,
and logs to take before I sleep.
The Bard of Sherman Avenue