A Time To Talk – Poem by Robert Frost
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.
At age eight my son asked me what it was like in the covered-wagon days? I explained I wasn’t quite that old. Frost’s poem speaks to a different era, but I want my friends to know I will stop and listen.
I am grateful. In this moment I send out a blessing to you.