The Miracle of Love

A weed is but an unloved flower (Ella Wheeler Wilcox )

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The park bench was deserted as I sat down to read
Beneath the long, straggly branches of an old willow tree.
Dissllusioned by life with good reason to frown,
For the world was intent on dragging me down.

As 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 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 surprise,
"It sure smells pretty and it's beautiful too."
"That's why I picked it; here, it's for you."

The weed he presented 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 midair without reason or plan.
Then 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 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 those times I myself had been blind,
I vowed to see the beauty in life and appreciate every second that's mine.

And as I held that wilted flower up to my nose
And breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose
I smiled as I watched that young boy, another weed in his hand
About to change the life of an unsuspecting old man.

Cheryl L. Costello-Forshey