On the wide level of a mountain's head,
   (I knew not where, but 'twas some fairy place)
   Their pinions, ostrich-like, for sails outspread,
   Two lovely children run an endless race,
         A sister and a brother!
         That far outstripped the other;
   Yet ever runs she with reverted face,
   And looks and listens for the boy behind;
         For he, alas! is blind!
   O'er rough and smooth with even step he passed,
And knows not whether he be first or last.

I saw the poem above and wanted to share it with all of you.  It makes me think that sometimes even those of us who see are blind to our surroundings and should be grateful for even the minor things be it good or bad. Like the old saying says it's not about winning or losing but how we play the game but most importantly we should be thankful that we can still play