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.
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Nice. Robert Frost is my absolute favourite poet.
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.