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The park bench was deserted as I sat down to read
Beneath the long, straggly branches of an old willow tree.
For the world was intent on dragging me down.
And if that were not enough to ruin my day,
A young boy out of breath approached me, all tired from play.
He stood right before me 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 placed the flower to his nose, declaring with 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 colors of orange, yellow, or red.
But I knew I must take it, or he might never leave.
So I reached for the flower, replying, "Just what I need."
Instead of his 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 tie
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 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 of 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 I smiled as I watched that young boy, another weed in his hand
About to change the life of an unsuspecting old man.
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