----{--{@
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 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 and 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, "Just what I need."
But
instead of him placing the flower in my hand,
He
held it in midair 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 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.
And
then I held that wilted flower up to my nose
And
breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose
And
smiled as I watched that young boy, another weed in his hand
About
to change the life of an unsuspecting old man.
By
Cheryl L. Costello-Forshey
from
A 5th Portion of Chicken Soup for the Soul
"Beauty, we have often believed we
see you but how awfully wrong we were, to judge by our eyes but not by
our heart. Beauty, you cannot be seen but we feel you in our hearts." ---{--{-(@
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