A tiny bump, so firm and round,
On skin it rises, softly found,
A hint of red or pinkish hue,
Brown, or shades of subtle blue.
It sits upon the leg or arm,
A fibrous mass that brings no harm,
Though itchy, tender it might be,
It often rests quite silently.
Dermatofibroma’s name it bears,
A mystery, yet few have cares.
From trauma small, it sometimes grows,
From bites or scrapes that no one knows.
A harmless thing, it doesn’t spread,
No fear of it should fill your head.
But if it bothers, you may choose,
To have it gone, and feel no bruise.
Pinch its center, watch it dive,
A dimpled mark, it’s still alive.
Less than one centimeter wide,
It’s simply there, with no great pride.
Though seldom seen, it’s part of skin,
A quiet guest that rests within,
A lesion mild, it asks no plea,
A benign tale of dermatology.
