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.

This poem is from The Poetry of Robert Frost, edited by Edward Connery Lathem and published by Holt, Rinehart and Winston of Canada, Limited (1866).

For more information about Robert Frost, see: www.poets.org/rfros