In the quiet curve of twilight's grace,
Lies a tale of the spine's embrace.
Where straightness should in shadows rest,
Scoliosis weaves its subtle quest.
An errant bend, a whispered sigh,
As vertebrae in secret vie.
Left or right, in "S" or "C" dance,
The spine surrenders to happenstance.
Idiopathic, a mystery's shroud,
In adolescence, it is avowed.
Congenital whispers from birth's embrace,
Vertebrae formed in misplaced grace.
Neuromuscular, a tangled knot,
Where muscles falter, nerves forgot.
Cerebral whispers, muscular trove,
Scoliosis claims its silent cove.
Degenerative, time's aging caress,
Each year a bend, a slow regress.
The spine, once sturdy, now bends and sways,
In the twilight of life's fading rays.
Uneven shoulders, hips, they tell,
Of scoliosis' quiet spell.
A protruding blade, a tilted waist,
In silent whispers, a story traced.
Yet in the midst of this silent plight,
Hope's flicker casts its gentle light.
For treatment stands with steady hand,
To guide the spine, to understand.
Mild or severe, each case unique,
Monitoring time, a path to seek.
Bracing, surgery, to correct and mend,
The spine's misstep, its wayward bend.
Physical therapy's guiding hand,
Through exercises, strength is planned.
To manage symptoms, posture refine,
In the dance of scoliosis' design.
Early detection, a beacon's call,
To intervene, before shadows fall.
For in the quiet curve of twilight's grace,
Lies the tale of scoliosis' embrace.
