Casual Chit Chat

Amidst the market’s restless tide,

where voices rise and footsteps glide,

a man stands still, his fingers trace,

the weary lines of time’s embrace.

Coins whisper secrets in his hand,

a humble sum, a careful plan.

Behind him drifts a silent gaze,

a soul lost deep in life’s own maze.

The scent of earth, the weight of need,

the quiet hope that hearts still bleed.

In simple trades, in fleeting sighs,

the human spirit never dies.