Don't it make my brown eyes blue
We'd always joked about my height,
how soon you would outstrip me,
a centimetre more this summer,
laughed that I was shrinking,
that's what nannas do.
Today, I smoothed your shoulders,
twitched fluff and feather from lapel,
straightened your tie, checked parting.
Today you stood tall, hands raised high,
to reach and grip an oaken casket,
bore grief and name with his sons.
Today you towered, as he would expect,
Manhood, in your last goodbye.