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 its petals all worn ... not enough rain,
Or too little light.
Wanting him to take his dead flower
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 flower to his nose;
He declared with overacted 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 flower, and replied ...
"This is just what I need."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

But instead of him placing the flower 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 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.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I sat there and wondered how he managed to see
A self-pitying woman beneath an 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 the beauty in life,
And appreciate every second that's mine.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~