In October of the year，

    he counts potatoes dug from the brown field，

    counting the seed， counting

    the cellar's portion out，

    and bags the rest on the cart's floor.

    He packs wool sheared in April， honey

    in combs， linen， leather

    tanned from deerhide，

    and vinegar in a barrel

    hoped by hand at the forge's fire.

    He walks by his ox's head， ten days

    to Portsmouth Market， and sells potatoes，

    and the bag that carried potatoes，

    flaxseed， birch brooms， maple sugar， goose

    feathers， yarn.

    When the cart is empty he sells the cart.

    When the cart is sold he sells the ox，

    harness and yoke， and walks

    home， his pockets heavy

    with the year's coin for salt and taxes，

    and at home by fire's light in November cold

    stitches new harness

    for next year's ox in the barn，

    and carves the yoke， and saws planks

    building the cart again