In the fibers deep within, a silent strain, A weakening pulse, a gradual refrain. Muscular dystrophy, a name we know, A tale of genes where strength lets go.
From birth, or later, it makes its mark, A journey long through days so stark. Duchenne strikes early, in childhood's bloom, A race with time, where shadows loom.
Becker’s pace is slow, but sure, A path familiar, but less demure. Myotonic stiffness takes its hold, With hands and feet that grow so cold.
Facioscapulohumeral fades the smile, Shoulders weaken, step by mile. Limb-Girdle grips hips, arms tight, A steady loss of movement’s light.
Congenital, from birth’s first cry, A heavy burden, hard to defy. Each form unique, yet all the same, An endless fight against the flame.
Muscles waste, and balance goes, Yet within, a spirit grows. With therapy and hope to steer, Each moment lived, defies the fear.
Though no cure may yet be found, Strength in love and care abound. In every step, in every strain, The will to rise surpasses pain.
