Sunday Poem: Robert Frost

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.

Robert Frost

3 thoughts on “Sunday Poem: Robert Frost

  1. Tell me about it!

    I was just thinking that it depends more on what’s going on in my life that the obligation to go and talk. Usually, once I do it’s worth it to check in with a friend.

    And with Frost there’s that surface meaning but other currents beneath, words put together with full knowledge of other darknesses and depths, sometimes directly contradicting what seems to be the initial/surface meaning.

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