The park bench was deserted as I
sat down to read,
beneath the long, straggly
branches of an old willow tree.
Disillusioned by life with good
reason to frown,
for the world was intent on
dragging me down.
And if that weren't enough to
ruin my day,
a young boy approached me, all
tired from play
He stood right before me with his
head tilted down
and said with great excitement,
"Look what I found!"
In his hand was a flower, and
what a pitiful sight,
With its petals all worn - not
enough rain, or too little light.
Wanting him to take his dead
flower and go off to play,
I faked a small smile and then
shifted away.
But instead of retreating he sat
next to my side
And declared with overacted
surprise,
"It sure smells pretty and
it's beautiful, too.
That's why I picked it; here,
it's for you."
The weed before me was dying or
dead,
not vibrant of colors: orange,
yellow or red.
But I knew I must take it, or he
might never leave.
So I reached for the flower, and
replied, "Thanks, just what I need."
but instead of him placing the
flower in my hand,
he held it mid-air without reason
or plan.
It was then that I noticed
for the very first time
that weed-toting boy could not
see~ he was blind.
I heard my voice quiver,
tears shone in the sun As I
thanked him for picking the very best one.
"You're welcome," he
smiled, and then ran off to play,
unaware of the impact he'd had on
my day.
I sat there and wondered how he
managed to see
A self-pitying woman beneath an
old willow tree.
How did he know of my
self-indulged plight?
Perhaps from his heart,
he'd been blessed with true
sight.
Through the eyes of a blind
child,
at last I could see
The problem was not with the
world;
the problem was me.
And for all of those times
I myself had been blind,
I vowed to see the beauty in
life,
and appreciate every second
that's mine.
And then I held that wilted
flower up to my nose
And breathed in the fragrance of
a beautiful rose
And smiled as I watched that
young boy,
another weed in his hand,
about to change the life of an
unsuspecting old man.
