Good Days and Bad

If anyone says to me once more,

When I meet them in the street.

"You're looking good, you couldn't tell,

You're out and about, you're on your feet."

Inside I'll scream , their words well meant.

There's thirty symptoms on the list.

Shakes and tremors are just one.

Got the T-Shirt. I've Parkinsons, I am not pissed.

Want to know just how I am?

Ask my wife, my next of kin,

Who sees me daily, good and bad.

Copes with the state I can get in.

An insidious condition,

I want to rant and rave,

But Parkinnsons, that uninvited guest,

You're with me to the grave.

I write these lines not for sympathy,

There's multitudes worse off than me.

Life's a stage and we all act.

It's just today I'm feeling trapped.

Sometimes a hill too hard to climb.

So tomorrow when I greet,

Someone else out in the street.

I'll smile and say I'm doing fine.

But not today.