Eschar, oh eschar, a mark of the past,
A reminder of wounds that couldn't heal fast,
A scab that covers a scar, deep and vast,
A memory etched on the skin that will last.
It starts as a blister, red and raw,
An injury that causes pain and awe,
A wound that bleeds and oozes, without a flaw,
Until a scab forms, a sign of the war.
Eschar, the mark of a battle fought,
The sign of a victory, though dearly bought,
A reminder of strength, resilience and thought,
And of the lessons in pain that were taught.
So let the eschar stay, don't pick or pry,
Let it heal in its own time, let it lie,
For it holds a story, that can't be denied,
Of a journey through hardship, where one learned to survive.
