A TIME TO TALK

When a friend calls to me from the road

And slows his horse to a meaning walk,

I do n't stand still and look around

On all the hills I have n'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.