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 hand tilted down
And with great excitement, “Look what I found!”
In his hand was a rose, what a pitiful sight
With it’s petals all worn – not enough rain or too little light.
Wanting him to take his dead rose 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 rose 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 rose and replied, “Just what I need.”
But instead of him placing the rose in my hand
He held 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.
“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 the 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 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.