The Rose

The park bench was deserted
as I sat down to read,
Beneath the weeping branches
of an old willow tree.
Disillusioned by my life
with good reason to frown,
For the world was intent
on dragging me down.

And as if to ruin my rare
quiet day,
A young boy approached me
all tired from play.
He stood before me with
his head tilted down,
And said in excitement,
"Look what I've found!"

In his hand was a flower and
what a pitiful sight,
With its petals all faded,
from rain or light.
Wanting him to take his dead flower
and go play,
I faked a smile and then
shifted away.

But instead of retreating
he sat by my side,
And sniffed at the flower 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 poor weed before me was
dying or dead,
No bright vibrant colours, no
yellow or red.
But I knew I must take it,
or he may never leave.
So i reached out my hand and
said, "Just what I need."

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 first time
That the weed-totting 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 person beneath
an old tree.
How did he know of my
self-indulged plight?
Perhaps in his heart, he's been
blessed with true sight.

Through the eyes of a blind
child, at least I could see
The problem was not with the
world, it was with me.
And for all those times I
myself had been blind,
I vowed to see beauty, and
appreciate what's mine.

I held that wilted flower up to
my nose,
And breathed in the fragrance
of a beautiful rose,
And smiled as the boy, another
weed in his hand,
Went to change the life of an
unsuspecting old man.