It is time
A poem dedicated to my Uncle Darrell and the parkinsons that he has had fits with on a daily basis.
It is time
Patiently I wait for them to come
Look at my phone, did they text,
two times or maybe even three.
Nope, no message has come through
As it turns out that my Aunt
just simply missed the turn
cause never has she learned
to trust Google Maps.
It is time
I go help him out of the car
We really are not that far
So happy I am to see him
Are you ready to eat, you look slim?
"Yes it is Faby's cooking that I came for
Now we had better go in"
It is time
Each step we take along the floor
one step, two step, three step, four.
It seems as though you are walking better
He replies "No I still have my fetter
"It always seems that my feet
are lagging further behind,
Really just before my eyes"
It is time
That passes as we walk to the door.
Almost 100 full moons have scored.
Much more time has passed for him
For it all seems slow when he moves his limb.
Each step seems to be a big score,
He is just begging for more.
It is time
as we pass the entrance of the door
That darn doorsill is a huge sore.
tricky it is to pass across
He just needs to show who is boss.
He started his therapy at first sight
For it started to restrict bit by bite.
It is time
as he sits down at the table
this motion is not very stable.
never does he stop because he still is able.
Help him, cause if not, he could be unable.
There is hope that medicine will take effect
for pills and oil keep him in check.
It is time
for us to give thanks to the Father
Humble prayer is never a bother.
we bow our heads with much gratitude
This will bring us to a greater altitude.
it is through that higher power
That he goes by each hour.
It is time
that we eat our dinner
He digs in like a winner.
With both hands he puts focus
No one really takes notice.
His body has changed a little
Carved away by a whittle.
It is time
for him to go home on his feet
til the next time we greet.
we wish each other well
For sometimes it could be a long spell.
