In marrow’s quiet, hidden lair,
Cells spark anew in hope’s repair.
From depths unseen, where life begins,
They rise to heal, renew within.
A call to arms, a body’s plea,
In blood’s own silent symphony.
Where illness weaves its threads of woe,
New life prepares its sacred flow.
In sterile rooms where light is dim,
A harvest drawn from deep within,
Stored close, like treasure rare and true,
To mend the wounded, born anew.
One path, self-given, autologous light,
Where cells return, reclaimed, in flight.
The other from a donor’s grace,
To fill another’s empty space.
Each cell a hope, a whispered dream,
In marrow’s flow, a healing stream.
From strangers’ veins or one’s own core,
A chance to breathe, to fight once more.
Yet danger lurks with hidden cost,
For battles fought, some battles lost.
Infections wage their stealthy war,
As GVHD shadows the door.
But life persists in stem cell’s call,
A phoenix rising, beyond the fall.
For in each cell, a spark is cast,
A future born to heal the past.
So patients wait, with hearts held tight,
For dawn to break on endless night.
For cells that graft and bodies mend,
A gift of life—a second wind.
