The biomarker's near, yet remains out of sight,
Who volunteers for the spinal tap's plight?
Vyalev's infusion, beneath the skin's layer,
Offers new hope, a continuous player.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the street
The clomp-clomping and shuffling of Parkinson's feet.
As my arm didn’t swing and my balance was poor,
I soon ended up frozen and then dropped to the floor.
Officers hurried, conclusions they drew,
"Too much merriment," their suspicions grew.
"Please," I responded, "I'm not under the sway,
Parkinson's dulls my expressions this way."
My voice, barely audible, handwriting a chore,
A face that reveals my feelings no more.
Facing misconceptions, yet standing my ground,
Seeking understanding where empathy's found.
Santa's elves appeared, understanding the plight,
Shifting me from "off" to "on," setting things right.
"Medications on schedule," they told the police,
Ensuring my symptoms found timely release.
Hope filled the room as I moved with a twist,
Dyskinesia's dance, impossible to resist.
I tapped my fingers, toes wiggled in rows,
Elf doctor instructed, "Now, touch your nose."
And then, in a twinkling... PD Avengers appeared.
We knew in an instant a cure must be near.
They were dressed all in gear, from their heads to their feet,
Their commitment to action was truly a feat.
A bundle of hope they had flung on their backs,
And they looked like true heroes, just opening their packs.
With voices as one, they amplify the call,
To end Parkinson's disease, once and for all.
They sprang to their cause, to their team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard them exclaim, ere they drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"
