A Time To Talk

When a friend calls to me from the road
And slows his horse to a meaning walk,
I don't stand still and look around
On all the hills I haven't hoed,
And shout from where I am, What is it?
No, not as there is a time to talk.
I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,
Blade-end up and five feet tall,
And plod: I go up to the stone wall
For a friendly visit.

by Robert Frost

Comments (24)

Nice poem, I liked the words, yeah.
please sent me poem about time
Thanks for your help for making me smile
I love your poems. I realy want to meat you.
i also wish Robert Frost was still alive.
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