A stock boy stands in the aisle of an empty store,
Counting down the minutes until closing on a Friday night.
The whole shift has been a bore.
There wasn’t a fun character in sight.
Thoughts of quitting accumulating,
Until he sees a new character trying to enter just after closing time—
A retail crime.
The stock boy lets him in with a smile,
Despite it being past closing,
Hoping the man won't be here for a while.
The man, in a rush for time,
Asks for thyme.
Thyme, not time.
He only bought thyme
And the stock boy bought him time.
Sacrificing his own free time
For the man’s thyme.
Gifts of time are few and far between
And therefore unexpected.
If only more gifts of time were seen,
The world could be corrected.