The Most Beautiful Flower

This Was The Most Beautiful Flower

By Cheryl Costello-Forshey
experiencefestival.com

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 its petals all worn down

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 overacted surprise,

"It 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 colours, 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 mid-air without reason or

plan.



It was then that I noticed

for the very first time,

That the 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's 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 about

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 I smiled as I watched that young

boy,

another weed in his hand,

About to change the life

of an unsuspecting old man.



SaturnsLady