When a friend calls to me from the road <br />And slows his horse to a meaning walk, <br />I don't stand still and look around <br />On all the hills I haven't hoed, <br />And shout from where I am, What is it? <br />No, not as there is a time to talk. <br />I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground, <br />Blade-end up and five feet tall, <br />And plod: I go up to the stone wall <br />For a friendly visit.<br /><br />Robert Frost<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-time-to-talk/
