LET'S BEAT PARKIE!

Two days I have watched by my dear Father’s bed
Ever bending down closer to hear what he said;
But his voice came in whispers – now it’s not there at all;
He keeps his eyes closed, won’t respond when I call.
His cheeks are all sunken, his handsome face thin
But still he fights on, won’t let Parkinson win!
His breath’s harsh and raspy; I don’t know if he hears
So I carry on chatting and hold back the tears.
This man, once a craftsman, an airman, a writer
Now can’t hold a pen, and yet still he’s a fighter!
And I watch his life ebbing and flowing away –
Will he be here tomorrow? Will it all end today?
The Japs couldn’t get him when he fought for his King
But he’s succumbed to old Parkie, a terrible thing.
So I’ll sit with my Father, hold his hand, quietly cry:
Sure he knows I’m beside him, and he knows I will try
To help find a cure for this cruel affliction:
Parkie licked in two decades is my hopeful prediction.