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GETTING UP THE WINTER WOOD IN VERMONT, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: I've heard a dozen farmers say
Last Line: You wish you owned another stove!
Subject(s): Farm Life; Forests; Lumber & Lumbering; Vermont; Agriculture; Farmers; Woods; Woodsmen

I'VE heard a dozen farmers say
They'd ruther cut and cart their hay,
In any season, bad or good,
Than chop and haul their winter's wood.
With all our tools, it's quite a chore
To lug a tree a mile or more;
It takes a lot of knocks and nerve,
A lot of vigor, vim and verve,
To move against a maple grove
And make it fit the kitchen stove.

These woodlot antics first begin
By what is known as "breaking in;"
You'd better likely use the stags,
They sorter like the snow and snags;
You Whoa Hush 'round jest where you please,
And gee and haw amongst the trees,
And them you kinder guess you'll cut
You look at sharp from branch to butt—
You can't set down and chew a clove
And let your wood hunt up your stove.

Your hired man has worked his time,
And so you send for Jonas Prime
To help you chop; but Jone can't come,
He's got a felon on his thumb;
You have to hire that little chap
That some call "Poly," others "Nap;"
"Slim help," you say, "his three pound axe
Can deal but few and feeble whacks"—
How drab your thoughts, a murky drove,
You wish you'd never owned a stove!

Next day as you and Poly go
To strike the pre-initial blow,
You notice that he's got a bit
And fuse and candy in his kit;
You single out a big old tree
And say, "Go to it; one, two, three;"
Then Poly makes his bitstock spin,
And sticks a stick of candy in,
And then a noise, as though your grove
Had lit on top the kitchen stove.

Before the sun has left the sky
He's leveled half your year's supply;
You're pleased to death and up and say
You'll pay him all he asks per day,
But thus he lays you on the shelf—
"Me chop par cord and eat maself;"
"All right," you shout, as Poly scores,
And off you start to do the chores,
A-guessing out how Frenchmen throve
In days before the kitchen stove.

You get along with Poly fine,
Like Zeus, his actions show design;
It sometimes makes your wallet thump
The way he "cords" around a stump;
It ruther tires your measuring nerve
To have to measure 'round a curve,
But anyway, you've conquered Time
And sled-length wood and Jonas Prime—
How bright your thoughts, a comely drove,
You wish you owned another stove!

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