What's my Excuse?
7 a.m. comes way too fast,
I snooze my alarm so the ringing will pass.
No ambition to start the day,
Not too worried about the price I may pay.
Then it hits me, a thought so clear,
What’s grandpa up to while I lay right here?
Does he lay asleep with his mask on tight?
The one he uses to help him rest at night.
Or is he in the family room in his chair?
The one that lifts him up in the air.
Are his tremors at ease? Are his legs moving smooth?
Or will his walker he hates be what he uses to move?
Will this disease ever leave? Ever dissipate?
All I want is for him to see me graduate.
I must rise from bed, as hard as it may be,
Because if he can fight Parkinson’s, what’s the excuse for me?
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