As Con looked out across the grove, the olive trees looked grand,

in pristine rows, they stood like soldiers lined across his land,

a bumper oil crop stood there, as did all his empty tanks,

poor Con would not be reaping much - and all the fault of banks!

The drought last year had hit him hard, no income for the farm,

his overdraft was high and that had sounded their alarm,

he needed extra money but his banks had called a freeze,

no harvesting machine - the olives stayed up on the trees.

He called on all his relatives, beseeching them for aid,

to lend him what he needed with a note to be repaid,

but one by one they shook their heads and gave the answer - no,

except for one from Delphi - old forgotten Uncle Joe.

Now, Uncle Joe had Parkinson's - and had it really bad,

it didn't take his brain but still the kinfolk thought him mad,

he quickly jumped upon a bus, arriving there post-haste,

he couldn't let a nephew's summer harvest go to waste!

Poor Joe had been quite lonely, shunned because of his disease,

he couldn't wait to get stuck in and harvest all the trees,

but Con confessed that though his Uncle seemed so very keen,

they had no hope without a brand-new harvesting machine!

Now, Uncle Joe knew nothing of the tilling of the soil,

and looked on olives simply as a way to get some oil,

he asked what this machine could do - what magic did it make?

And Con replied that really, all it did was damn well shake!

The harvest was a record crop, the rest is history,

how Uncle Joe went out and wrapped his arms round every tree,

his Parkinson's then did the rest and down the olives rained,

he shook each tree and shortly not a single fruit remained!

Now Uncle Joe's as rich as Con, he gave him half the crop,

he moved in with his nephew and they both came out on top,

if someone gets a bad disease, don't let your love decrease,

remember Uncle Joe - he now has farms all over Greece!

more of my FUNNY POEMS here