The Most Beautiful Flower


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 -
too little rain, 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 old man 
beneath an old willow tree.


How did he know of
my self-indulged plight?
Perhaps from his heart,
....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.


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 another unsuspecting old man.

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IT COULDN’T BE DONE

Somebody said that it couldn’t be done
But he with a chuckle replied
That “maybe it couldn’t,” but he would be one
Who wouldn’t say so til he’d tried.

So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
On his face. If he worried he hid it.
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

Somebody scoffed: “Oh, you’ll never do that;
At least noone has ever done it”;
But he took off his coat and he took off his hat,
And the first thing we knew he’d begun it.

With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

There are thousands that will tell you it cannot be done,
There are thousands that prophesy failure;
There are thousands to point out to you, one by one,
The dangers that wait to assail you.

But just buckle in with the hint of a grin,
Just take off your coat and go to it;
Just start to sing as you tackle the thing
That “cannot be done,” and you’ll do it!

Edgar A. Guest

 

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THERE IS A WAY!

There is a way to overcome

The obstacles we face in life...

To many, they seem quite burdensome

And they’re ready to give up the strife.

Oh friend, keep struggling as you trudge along

Upon life’s rugged road;

There’s someone waiting to right the wrong

By lifting your heavy load.

There is a way to smile again

 

If you’ll look up in the sky;

You’ll find the sunshine after the rain

When the clouds have drifted by.

Though many tears have filled your eyes,

They’ve made the way quite clear

To find a rainbow in the skies

And take away your fear.

Yes, there’s a way if you’ll look for it;

Just hang in there and try.

You’ll find many blessings if you do not quit

And they will multiply.

Just trust in God from day to day

And don’t give in to despair.

Hold on to His hand, let Him lead the way,

Keep a song in your heart and a prayer.

 by Lou Ella Cullipher

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The Man Who Thinks He Can!

If you think you are beaten, you are;
If you think you dare not, you don’t;
If you’d like to win, but think you can’t,
It’s Almost a cinch you won’t.

If you think you’ll lose, you’re lost,
For out in the world we find
Success begins with a fellow’s will;
It’s all in the state of mind.

If you think you’re outclassed, you are;
You’ve got to think high to rise,
You’ve got to be sure of yourself before
You can ever win a prize.

Life’s battles don’t always go
To the stronger or faster man;
But soon or late the man who wins
Is the man who thinks he can.

by Walter D. Wintle.

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The Castle Builder

Written December 14, 1848,
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,
but not printed until 1867,
when it appeared in Our Young Folks.
(January issue of that year.)

A gentle boy, with soft and silken locks,
A dreamy boy, with brown and tender eyes,
A castle-builder, with his wooden blocks,
And towers that touch imaginary skies.
A fearless rider on his father’s knee,
An eager listener unto stories told
At the Round Table of the nursery,
Of heroes and adventures manifold.
There will be other towers for thee to build;
There will be other steeds for thee to ride;
There will be other legends, and all filled
With greater marvels and more glorified.
Build on, and make thy castles high and fair,
Rising and reaching upward to the skies;
Listen to voices in the upper air,
Nor lose thy simple faith in mysteries.

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Tags: God, hate, humanity, love, poverty

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