Although ninety years old,
Jack played golf every day,
So he was unhappy,
His sight was slipping away.

He could still hit the ball
A good country mile,
But not seeing its flight
Was cramping his style.

His wife said, “Take Herby,
He has perfect eyesight.
He’s a hundred and two
But he’s still very spright.”

So Jack took old Herby,
To watch him tee off,
Ignoring his wheezing
And occasional cough.

Jack hit his first ball
On a long curving flight,
Depending on Herby
With his perfect eyesight.

“Did you see where it went,
Could you follow my ball?”
“Of course,” said old Herby,
“But I can’t seem to recall.”