In the chambers of the heart, a silent beat, Where rhythm flows in pathways, strong and neat, But here, in this corridor, a shadow falls, A whisper in the pulse, a stuttered call.
The right bundle branch, a thread so fine, Carries life’s current, a vital line, Yet here it falters, slow to spark, Leaving the right ventricle briefly dark.
The left side dances, swift and clear, While the right hesitates, caught in fear, A delay in the dance, a pause so slight, Invisible to the eye, hidden from sight.
Causes may vary, from age to strain, From hearts that have weathered life's storm and rain, Yet often unnoticed, without a sign, A secret kept in the heart’s own time.
Diagnosis is found in the ECG’s trace, A pattern unique, a telling pace, Treatment depends on what lies within, Whether the heart’s journey is smooth or thin.
In most, it’s a whisper, no cause for alarm, A benign delay, no need for harm, But in others, the heart may need aid, A pacemaker’s rhythm, a path newly laid.
So in the heart's secret, a story is told, Of a bundle that hesitates, a beat not so bold, Yet life goes on, with each beat and breath, A testament to resilience, a dance with death.
