A TIME TO TALK

by: Robert Frost (1874-1963)

      HEN 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.

"A Time to Talk" is reprinted from Mountain Interval. Robert Frost. New York: Henry Holt, 1921.

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