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 approached me, all tired from play;
He stood right before me with his head tilted down,
And said with excitement, "Look what I found!"
In his hand was a flower, and a pitiful sight,
With its petals all worn...from too little rain or light;
Wanting him to take his dead flower and go play,
I faked a small smile and then shifted away.
But instead of retreating, he sat next to me,
Placed the flower to his nose and declared cheerfully;
"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 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 very first time,
That weed-toting boy could not see; he was blind!
I heard my voice quiver...tears shown in 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.