A long time ago there was a lumber mill built
By Potlatch Forests Incorporated,

They not only erected the lumbering place,
But the town of Potlatch was created,

A young man named Leroy went to work --
As the years passed, he became a sawyer,

He spent many years watching the carriage-riders, logs and saw --
His job demanding as a Philadelphia lawyer,

Vital decisions he made and hand signals were conveyed
To the carriage man as to what cuts to make,

The sawyer's experience could make the best use
Of a tree trunk -- it was no piece of cake,

Thru the years even this writer worked there --
Pulled a few thousand boards behind the planer,

The bad news? -- it could make a mad man madder --
The good news? -- it made a sane man even saner,

There came, of course, the inevitable day
When Leroy, retired and resting, heard the news

That the whistle would never be heard again --
No man would try to fill Leroy's shoes,

Potlatch passed the torch to Lewiston, Idaho --
Weyerhaeuser's board-feet orders to fill,

The first boards produced had been Deary's desk --
The last lumber is forgotten like the mill.

                                                by D. Edgar Murray 05/19/2000.