“A Time to Talk
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.”
