A Time to Talk
Robert Frost 1874--1963

When a friend calls to me from the road
And slows his horse to 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 foot tall,
And plod: I go up to the stone wall
for a friendly visit.