|
|
A Time To Talk
By Robert Lee 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 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.
Extra Info:
|
|
Printable Page
Add Your Thoughts on this poem.
This page viewed 1446 times.
|
|
