In shadows cast upon the eyes, Where light should dance, but instead it lies, A veil of droop, a silent sigh, Ptosis whispers, drawing nigh.
One eyelid falls, a gentle descent, A journey mapped by time, oft spent, From youth's bright gaze to aged lament, Ptosis weaves its tale, intent.
A silent thief, it steals the sight, Inching downward, day by night, From minimal to a blinding plight, Ptosis grips with all its might.
Age, trauma, or nature's hand, Each factor plays its own demand, Neurological whispers, softly fanned, Ptosis weaves its intricate strand.
But fear not the shroud that gently falls, For in the darkness, hope recalls, Treatment's touch, where healing calls, Ptosis yields to courage's thralls.
Surgery's skill, corrective grace, Lenses clear, a new embrace, Against the veil, we boldly face, Ptosis retreats, in its rightful place.
So let us stand with vision clear, Facing challenges, without fear, For in the journey, we persevere, Ptosis may droop, but we hold dear.
