Saturday, July 14, 2007

The Most Beautiful Flower

This is a story I read, and thought it nice.

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 - 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 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.
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


What is wrong with people? I read this article from the UK and it sickens me.
I sat and cried when I read it this afternoon. This poor little baby. I know that perhaps there are some people who feel that the father was trying to help end the baby's suffering. I'm sorry, I feel nothing but hatred towards the father. Yes, I know hate is a very strong word. That little boy, bless his soul, did not ask for anything that was dealt to him in his life. That poor baby, that is all I can say.

I am sorry that you had to suffer in your short little life, and I am sorry that your father did this to you. And I am so sorry that there wasn't someone there to help you, and love you like you should have been loved. It is not fair, and it is not right what your father did to you.

God looked around His garden,
And found an empty space,
He looked down upon the earth
And saw your tired face,
He put His arms around you,
And lifted you to rest,
God's garden must be beautiful,
For He only takes the best.
He Knew that you were weary,
And he knew you were in pain,
He knew that you would never
Be well on earth again.
He saw the road was getting rough,
And hills were hard to climb,
So He closed your weary eyelids
And whispered "Peace Be Thine"

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