A Time to Talk
By Robert Frost
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.
Tags: A time to Talk, Robert Frost
February 6th, 2008 at 10:49 pm
Nice. Robert Frost is my absolute favourite poet.
February 12th, 2008 at 11:59 am
Robert Frost is my favorite too. I was feeling rushed and burnt out this day. I turned to my old friend and found some quiet in my heart.