Within the palm's hidden realm, a silent foe does dwell, Binding sinew and skin in its insidious spell. A cord, thickened and taut, beneath the surface lies, Twisting fingers towards the palm with relentless ties.
Origins veiled in mystery, a genetic thread unwinds, Coupled with life's trials, its grasp unkind. More common in Northern lands, age its faithful guide, Dupuytren's marks its presence, unable to hide.
Nodules form, subtle whispers of its advance, Skin puckers, a silent plea for a second chance. Fingers falter in their reach, a struggle to extend, As the contracture tightens, its grip will not bend.
Treatment's path unfolds, tailored to each hand's plight, Monitoring, exercises, injections in the fight. Surgeons wield their skill, releasing captive bands, Yet recurrence lingers, as fate's unyielding demands.
In the dance with Dupuytren's, resilience finds its place, Guided by hands of healers, hope's enduring grace. For those in its grasp, a journey they must embark, Together with specialists, forging paths through the dark.
