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April 25, 2014- 1:52am
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The Most Beautiful Flower

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 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!"

In his hand was a flower, and what a
pitiful sight,

With it's petals all warn down-not
enough rain, or to little light.
Wanting him to take his dead flower
and go off to play,

I faked a smile and then shifted away.

But instead of retreating he sat next
to my side,

And placed the flower to his nose and
declared with overacted surprise,
"It's 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 mid-air without reason or plan.
It was then that I noticed for the very
first time,

That the 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's 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 about 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 in life, &
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.

~By Cheryl Costello-Forshey~





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