The Most Beautiful Flower

I have never really been interested in poetry simply because I find it hard to really understand what they are trying to say. Most of the time, when I read, I don't understand the figurative meaning. I need things to be said the way they are, literally, not twisted and written in flowery language.

However, there is one poem that I really like. It doesn't require much thinking (which is probably why I like it) and is easy to understand. The first time I read it, I was in secondary school. I have no idea where I came across it, but a couple of years ago, I tried looking it up in the internet and I found it!!

I don't know why I like it so much, but I just do. Hope you like it too.

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THE MOST BEAUTIFUL FLOWER

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.

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.