In the tapestry of my child’s life, a thread of sorrow weaves,
Deformed hands, a burden that quietly grieves,
A feeling that God turned a blind eye to his plight,
Leaving me to pray fervently, seeking His guiding light.

Through the years, as my child faced the world’s gaze,
His deformed hands a puzzle, a maze,
I turned to prayer, a refuge in the storm,
Pleading for his liberation, for his spirit to transform.

In the silence of my heart, in the depths of my soul,
I poured out my hopes, my fears, my role,
To be a beacon of strength, a shelter in despair,
Guiding him through life, showing him love and care.

His deformed hands, a mark he cannot hide,
A source of struggle, of tears he has cried,
Yet in his eyes, a resilience shines bright,
A spirit undaunted by the darkest night.

I pray for his liberation from suffering’s grasp,
For God’s mercy to fall, for His love to clasp,
To grant my child relief, to lift his heavy load,
And lead him to a future where happiness is bestowed.

In the quiet of my prayers, in the stillness of night,
I seek solace in faith, in a flickering light,
Hoping for a miracle, for God’s grace to descend,
To show my child that His love will never end.

Beside him, I stand, a pillar of love and grace,
Embracing him tightly, seeking God’s embrace,
For in his struggle, I see a strength so rare,
A spirit unbroken, a resilience that dares.

So I pray each day, with a heart full of love,
For my child’s liberation, for blessings from above,
To know that in his deformed hands lies a story of grace,
A journey of courage, of hope, and of embrace.