I found a pretty cool poem while I was exploring online today and figured I would post it for you to read. Actually, the poem sort of found me.
It’s funny how focusing on a particular topic will often draw aspects of that topic to you. Whether it be in written form, a sign by the road, a picture or maybe a meaningful conversation with someone, if you are truly focused on something, you are, in a very real way, attracting it to yourself.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how precious life really is, and how appreciating life with it’s many wonderful gifts as well as being thankful for each moment I am fortunate enough to enjoy is really what makes it worth so much.
It really is all about the journey. And about recognizing the miracle of the NOW.
I know, sometimes I start to sound a little nutty…believe me though, I do understand the stress and pressure that exists in the real world. I know that things don’t always seem to be wonderful and amazing all the time. However, I’ve learned that if we can have the courage to shift our perspective, change our attitude, and find the wonder that exists in the moment, it can be world-changing!
So, here’s the poem, which is not attributed to anyone, but I think will challenge you in a very healthy way if you let it. Enjoy…
The Park Bench
(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 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 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, as last I could see
The problem was not with the world, but with 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 I breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose.
And smiled as I watched that young boy, another weed in hand,
About to change the life of an unsuspecting old man.