Hemophilia, a silent call,
Where clotting fails to work at all,
A rare disorder in the veins,
Where blood flows long, ignoring chains.
Factor VIII or IX is gone,
A dance of proteins left undone,
Hemophilia A, the classic plight,
Or B, where Christmas stars shine bright.
A scrape or cut may bleed for days,
A bruise will linger in its maze,
In joints and muscles, pain may swell,
A silent agony to tell.
A bump, a fall, a sudden tear,
The body's clotting left so bare,
And yet, with courage, people stand,
In search of healing hand to hand.
Replacement therapy, a gift,
Infusions bring the needed lift,
To bind the blood, to stop the flow,
A battle fought with every blow.
But science whispers hope anew,
Gene therapy comes into view,
To fix the broken gene inside,
And free the blood, once trapped, denied.
An X-linked trait, it passes on,
From mother’s gene, the legacy drawn,
Males most often face the strife,
While women carry silent life.
Yet through it all, they persevere,
With every drop, they conquer fear,
For hemophilia may run deep,
But strength and hope, they’ll always keep.
