FW: Flowers

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>   The Most Beautiful Flower
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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.
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>   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!"
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>   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.
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>   But instead of retreating he sat next to my side
>   And 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."
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>   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."
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>   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.
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>   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.
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>   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.
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>   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.
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>   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.
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