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
2 comments:
This poem sounds nice and it expresses something solid. I like it :)
Frost, Robert. (1874 - 1963). A Time to Talk. In William J. Bennett (Ed.), The Book of Virtues. New York: Scholastic, Inc.
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