Johnny sat in his fruit shop
Safe behind his counter top.
Lounging about on his stool,
Looking out at all the rushing fools.
You see, he knew what he had to do—
Just sit and try to make some money off his fruit.
And if he also managed to sell some baskets,
To celebrate that night, he'd be all set.
He was at peace with his place,
And took life at his own pace.
He'd been there long enough to know well,
What he had that he was ready to sell.
He could join the fools outside,
Rushing and going with the tide.
Their forever-spinning heads taking a toll,
As they hustled and bustled to sell their souls.
But Johnny was a wise, practical man.
He knew his time was like grains of sand.
If he tried to hold on too tight, or save them in a can,
He'd only be left with an empty hand.
He knew his hand and his game was tough,
For his time, he knew, no price was high enough.
He lived content, in his house and his little store,
Knowing when the time came for him, he'd be only too happy to go.
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