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Very powerful. Thanks for sharing it. Laughter is not the only good medicine, tears work well also. [log in to unmask] (home) [log in to unmask] (work) > ---------- > From: Sylvain Pascal[SMTP:[log in to unmask]] > Sent: Wednesday, August 19, 1998 1:57 PM > To: Multiple recipients of list PARKINSN > Subject: The Eyes of a Child > > I am new to the group. In fact I joined to understand the PD as my > mother has been diagnosed of same one week ago. As a first > contribution > I wanted to post a poem I came through some time ago and dedicate it > to > you all > S Pascal > > The Eyes of a Child > -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- > > 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 at what I found" > > In his hand was a flower, and what a pitiful sight, > With its petals all worn-not enough rain, or to 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 midair 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. > > Author Unknown >