When a friend calls to me from the road
And slows his horse to a meaningful 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 s a time to talk.
I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,
Blade-end up and five feet tall,
And plod: I go up the stone wall
For a friendly visit.
~ Robert Frost
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