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
out of breath 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,
I faked a
small smile and then shifted away.
But instead of
retreating he sat next to my side,
Placed
the flower to his nose 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, "Just what I need."
But instead of
him placing the flower in my hand,
He held it in
midair 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 like 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
man beneath an old willow tree.
How did he
know of my self-indulged plight?
Perhaps from
his heart, he 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,
About to
change the life of another,
Author
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