In My Eye.
I sat misty eyed all through the eulogy,
Fine words heard makes it hard to see,
When my daughter rose I went to her side,
To stand strong, some comfort to provide.
If she faltered with her words I’d said
I’d take on the recitation in her stead,
But when I stood forth, as if to speak
Well, damn my eyes, they began to leak.
I had said I would speak up without a quaver
But on looking down the words began to waver,
So I stood by, mournfully manfully staunching my eye,
Ah, but my daughter spoke far more eloquently than I.