A Poem from a compilation Dated 1974 of Sunshine Magazine

A banker passed a gardener.
As each went on his way,
The gardener wished that he could be
A banker, rich and gay.
He’d sit in comfort in a chair
Behind his office walls
And greet important, busy men
Who came on urgent calls.
He didn’t know the banker’s thoughts.
The banker envied him
His glowing tan, his bright, clear eyes,
His graceful stride and vim.
“Oh, what a job!” the banker sighed
“To work near trees and roses,
And breathe fresh air that hasn’t been

In other people’s noses!”

Posted Without permission from Lyla Myers – the poet

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