In the quiet corners of my heart, a story unfolds,
Of a child whose path seemed marred, whose hands told,
A tale of struggle, of challenges unknown,
Of a burden carried, of seeds sown.

Throughout my child’s life, a heavy burden they bore,
Deformed hands, a mark they couldn’t ignore,
In the silence of their pain, God seemed far away,
Leaving me to wonder, to hope, to pray.

Each day, as the sun rose in the sky,
I prayed earnestly, tears in my eye,
For relief from their suffering, for a glimpse of light,
For my child to find solace, to take flight.

Despite the sadness that gripped my soul,
A flame of hope burned, an unyielding goal,
To see my child smile, to witness their joy,
To lift their spirit, their heart to buoy.

I watched them navigate a world unkind,
Their deformed hands a challenge of the mind,
Yet in their eyes, a resilience shone,
A spirit unbroken, a strength all their own.

As they faced each day with courage and grace,
I marveled at their spirit, their determined pace,
Their laughter like music, their spirit bright,
A beacon of love, a guiding light.

In the depths of my prayers, in the silence of night,
I sought solace in faith, in hope burning bright,
For my child to find relief, to know happiness true,
To live a life filled with love, just as they grew.

And though the road ahead may be steep,
I walk by their side, my love running deep,
For in their journey, I see a beauty so rare,
A soul so pure, a spirit that dares.

So I pray every day, with a heart full of love,
For my child to find peace, to rise above,
To know that in their deformed hands lies a gift,
A reminder of strength, of spirits that lift.