Site icon Angie's Diary




Where will my words go
When I can no longer speak.

When Parkinson’s fluffs my lines
For the last time.

And the grey matter fails to stir
When groping for le bon mot.

Or when called upon to say
The simple words: I don’t know.

Choking on a consonant
Coughing up a vowel.

Struck dumb as stridency
Suddenly succumbs to silence.

And my last sentence tails off
before completion.

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