The park bench was deserted as I sat down to read Beneath the weeping branches of an old willow tree, Disillusioned by 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 right before me with his head tilted down And said with excitement, “Look what I found!” In his hand was a flower, and what a pitiful sight, With its petals all faded, from no 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 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 colors, no yellow or red. But I knew I must take it, or he might 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 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 an old tree. How did he know of my self- indulged plight? Perhaps in 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, it was me. And for all of 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.