Inspirational Poem - Self-Pitying Man

Hi frenz...

It is ever so easy to indulge in self-pity when things in our lives go wrong... its just too easy to sulk in despair and withdraw ourselves from everything... but hey, there are more people out there having twice as much as what's wearing you down but yet are still keeping that smile on their faces...

Sometimes, we live life based on whatever we've got, all that we have, all that we can give... but when whatever we have, or whatever we can give is not enough to satisfy what life entails, we resigned and surrender to it... Well, as much as we strive to give life all that we have, we should also make the best life for whatever that we are left with... even if we're left with nothing... we should be counting our blessings... not our miseries...

Here's a poem that, hopefully, would enlighten you:

Title: The Self-Pitying Man Beneath the Old Willow Tree

The park bench was deserted and I sat down to read
Beneath the long, straggly branches of an old willow tree.
Disillusioned by life with good reasons 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 me 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 man 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 hand,
About to change the life of an unsuspecting old man.
(KPNN-Classics)