In the folds of tender skin, Where life's map begins, Lies a tale of itch and red, Of eczema's silent spread.
A child's face, a canvas of plight, Inflamed hues that mark the fight, Itching, relentless, the skin cries out, As dryness whispers with every drought.
Rashes bloom like wayward flowers, Raised and patchy, in quiet hours, Oozing, crusting, the battle wears, Leathered by scratching's silent tears.
Genetics weave their unseen thread, A legacy where eczema is bred, Immune systems, once vigilant and keen, Now misfire where allergens convene.
Environmental triggers in the fray, A storm of irritants, stress at bay, Skin's barrier, once a sturdy wall, Now breaches, moisture's call.
Yet hope gleams in careful care, Moisturizers, a soothing prayer, Corticosteroids calm the fire's flare, Medications whisper relief's repair.
Avoidance, a shield in daily stride, From soaps and fabrics where troubles hide, A routine gentle, a ritual of calm, In baths and creams, healing's balm.
Consult, oh wise, with gentle hands, Dermatologist's art where healing stands, For eczema's story, though oft unseen, Lives in every fold, in every dream.
