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 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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