Passing Thoughts

A banker passed a gardener.
   As each went on his way,
The gardener wished 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'd come 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!"