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The park bench was deserted as
I sat down to read
'Neath 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, his head tilted down
And said with excitement "Just look what I
found!"
His
hand held a flower, and what a pitiful sight.
It's petals were worn-too little rain, too little light.
Hoping he'd take his dead flower and go play.
I faked a small smile and shifted away.
But
instead of retreating, he sat by my side.
He smelled the old flower and said with good pride
"It sure smells pretty, and it's beautiful too.
that's why I picked it. here it's for you."
The
ugly old flower was dying or dead.
Not vibrant color orange, yellow or red. I knew I
must take it or he might never leave. So I reached for
the flower and said, "Just what I need."
Instead
of his placing the weed in my hand.
He held it mid-air without reason or plan.
It was then that I noticed for the very first time.
The weed-toting boy could not see: he was blind.
I
heard my voice quiver, tears shone like the sun,
As I thanked him for picking the very best one.
"You're welcome" he smiled, then ran off to
play.
Not knowing the impact he had on my day.
I
sat there and wondered how he'd managed to see
A self-pitying woman 'neath an old willow tree.
How did he know of my self-indulged plight?
Through
the eyes of a blind child, at last I could see.
The problem was not others. The problem was me.
And for all those times I myself had been blind, I
vowed to see beauty in each second that's mine.
I
lifted that old flower up close to my nose.
And breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose.
I smiled as that young boy, another weed in his hand,
was about to change the life of an unsuspecting old man.
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