Dear Dr Parkinson

Dear Dr Parkinson, I know you are my friend;
I know that you'll be with me until the very end.
Although I sometimes fondly wish
that you would go away,
I know that you'll be faithful;
at my shoulder you will stay.

Dear Dr Parkinson, you'll see me round the bend,
that last blind twist we all must take, my truest, bluest friend.
You glance at me with steely eye,
a portent of my fate;
I know that you are truthful,
that you'll give it to me straight.

Dear Dr Parkinson, I hope you've got it right!
Must Jabberwock and Boojum torment me in the night?
Must I seem to others drunken
if I stagger while I walk?
must I slur my words and fumble;
must I one day cease to talk?

“Dear me!” says Parkinson, “I really should have said
“that when your limbs are frozen you'll be full-time in your bed.
“But don't you fret, I'll not forget
“to get the care you're due.
“We'll have on tap a well-trained nurse
“to clean up after you.”

I tell you what, dear Parkinson, I'll hug you to my breast!
I'll bear your weight; I'll welcome you; you'll be my honoured guest.
For I've a dream that o'er dark stream
at last I'll see what's true.
And when I greet all those who wait,
our joy will banish you.