Have got it one step from the starting place.
It stands beside the same old apple tree.
The shadow of the apple tree is thin
Upon it now, its feet are fast in snow.
All other farm machinery’s gone in,
And some of it on no more legs and wheel
Than the grindstone can boast to stand or go.
(I’m thinking chiefly of the wheelbarrow.)
For months it hasn’t known the taste of steel,
Washed down with rusty water in a tin.