6. Choose a poem that suits your bench, and explain your choice. Include a copy of the poem.

Poem: The Park Bench

I picked this poem for the reason that it conveys back reminiscences and provides me hope for the upcoming future. This is a very motivational poem that reminds us to stop and value each day that you have. I also hope that these inspirational words of wisdom will inspire people to live each day to the fullest. This poem lets me change my interpretation about life. I particularly picked this poem because the blind little boy encourages me to value my life and to appreciate everything that God and us people have created because not everything is guaranteed to be everlastingly stable in this planet. I suddenly thought about the bench I sat on, that bench made me realize how important life and it also motivates in a way that I have keep going in my existence until I reach the vanishing point. I chose this poem because it best defines the sensation and understanding of the bench which I have chosen. This bench reminds me of my individuality and my dependence with the world and nature. No matter how obscure and superficial my mind is, sitting on this bench will always ease my mind and give me hope. This poem shows us how words of gratefulness and the humblest gestures can have a positive impact on the lives of others. I also picked this poem because it demonstrates that small things have big returns!

The Park Bench

Poet: Unknown

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, 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.