My Kid's Breast Cancer Waltz: a poem by my dad

My dad wrote a waltz, too.  He says that there is no orchestra, but there might be a steel guitar.  He wrote it in the comment section of my previous post.

My Kid's Breast Cancer Waltz

She tells me
She’s tired
Her blood counts are low.
She goes to
The doctor
She calls Doctor O.
She’s fighting this battle,
No matter the cost.
And my kid
Does the breast cancer waltz.

Her friends are
Amazing
The party’s been set.
Her husband’s 
A soldier
She’s lucky she met.
An over-achiever,
She never has lost 
And my kid
Does the breast cancer waltz.

And oooooh...oooooh...oooooh
Don’t she look lovely.
And oooooh...oooooh...oooooh,
Don’t she show class.
And oooooh...oooooh...oooooh,
In three quarter only
Dance while
The band plays
And my kid
Beats this breast cancer’s ass.