In the realm of flesh and bone, a story to be told,
Of wounds and their edges, where tales of healing unfold.
A border 'twixt the hurt and health, where life's dance does commence,
The "wound edge," a guardian, a sentinel, a defense.
In the language of the flesh, a tapestry is spun,
Wound edges speak of battles lost and battles won.
Four faces they may wear, these guardians of our skin,
In shades of health and illness, they reveal the state within.
Approximated, they draw close, in harmony they mend,
Sutures, staples, adhesive grace, a message to transcend.
Surgical hands with skillful art, with care they intervene,
To guide the path of healing, where once a wound had been.
Everted edges outward turn, a beacon of hope they show,
A pathway to recovery, where strength and wellness grow.
Inverted, they may be, in shadows they retreat,
A hindrance to the mending, a challenge to defeat.
Rolled edges tell a tale of struggle and despair,
As tissue curls inward, a silent, subtle prayer.
For wounds to find their solace, to bridge the rift and strife,
The touch of healing hands, the promise of a new life.
In the story of our wounds, the edges bear the key,
To stages of our healing, what lies beneath to see.
They whisper secrets softly, of health or grave concern,
A language understood by those who tend and learn.
So, in the world of wounds, with edges as our guide,
We journey through the healing, where science and hearts collide.
With care and dedication, the wounded find their way,
To wellness and to wholeness, where hope and healing sway.
