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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.
Disillusioned
by life,
With
good reason to frown.
For
the world was intent,
On
dragging me down.
And
if that was not 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.
With
its petals all worn,
Too
little rain, too little light.
Wanting
him to take his dead flower,
And
go off to play.
I
faked a small smile,
And
the shifted away.
But
instead of retreating,
He
sat next to my side.
And
placed the flower to his nose,
And
declared 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 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 it in 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 like the sun.
As
I thanked him for picking,
The
very best one.
"Your
welcome," he smiled,
And
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 pitting woman,
Beneath
an old willow tree.
How
did he know of,
My
self indulged plight?
Perhaps
from his heart,
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.
Author:
Cheryl Costello-Forshey
Copyright
1996
Used
with permission by Cheryl Costello-Forshey
 
 
  
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