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 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.