Playing at Parkinson

Though of life I've not had my fill,
And many things give me a thrill.
This summer I've felt rather ill,
And seem to be going downhill.

I feel I've been through the mill,
And wonder about one more pill.
Of find myself making a will,
And being a bit of a dill.

As P.D. moves in for the kill,
It drives me to take up my quill.
In hopes of dispelling the chill,
And tears that too ready spill.

I know that there's no drill,
To beat the disease 7:nil.
No way of not paying the bill,
No hope of cure is there still.

Enough of this winging until,
I'm really put under the grill.
For now it's much better to trill,
I'm off to see Duncan, he's brill.