Beneath the sun’s relentless glow,
Melanocytes begin to grow,
A pigment in the skin they weave,
But sometimes, danger they conceive.
Melanoma starts its silent creep,
In places where the shadows sleep,
On face, or arms, where light does play,
Or hidden where it shuns the day.
Beneath a nail, upon a sole,
It mimics moles, a lurking goal.
In black or brown, or mixed disguise,
Its colors shift before the eyes.
Asymmetry may mark its tale,
One side distinct, the other pale.
The border blurred, not sharp or clean,
Its edges hint at what’s unseen.
And color, uneven, will unfold,
A patchwork dark or pale as gold.
A mole’s diameter grows wide,
Beyond the norm it tries to hide.
Yet evolution tells the truth,
As changes mar the skin of youth.
Detect it early, heed the signs,
Before it crosses fatal lines.
Protect your skin from UV’s bite,
And check for changes in the light.
With vigilance, we stand our ground,
For in prevention, hope is found.
