With apologies to Robert Frost....
Whose penthouse this, I think I know.
He should be in a jail cell, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To curse him o'er my missing dough.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a hedge fund near
Between Bear Stearns and Lehman freres
The reddest ink I've seen all year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there's been some mistake.
The only other sound's a cry:
"He screwed us all, for pity's sake!"
The penthouse throws me for a loop,
For I have naught to eat but soup,
And eons to go ere I recoup,
And eons to go ere I recoup.