The Blind Boy

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
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
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 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 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.