There's a great one by Enda Kenny on his CD Twelve Songs, about his father.

And here's one I wrote for mine. After he died, that's the way it is too often.

You're the one I'd want to turn to
when there's nowhere else to turn.
You're the one who tried to teach me,
so I wouldn't need to learn.
And it's too late now to tell you,
but I'll tell you anyway,
don't I wish we'd had a chance to talk,
before you slipped away
Far more than I can say,
far more than I can say,
I'd like to sit beside you
and pass the time of day,
and listen to your stories,
far better than a play,
and take your hand and say goodbye,
before you slipped away.

It's strange the way so many things
keep coming back to mind,
like half forgotten memories
of half remembered times,
and things I meant to tell you,
but never got to say –
don't I wish I'd seen you one more time,
before you slipped away.
Far more than I can say,
far more than I can say,
I'd like to sit beside you
and pass the time of day,
and listen to your stories,
far better than a play,
and take your hand and say goodbye,
before you slipped away.

And at times I get a notion
when the music's playing loud
and the mandolin is ringing
and there's singing in the crowd,
I almost think I see you –
are you back for just one day
to listen to a tune or two,
before you slip away.
Far more than I can say,
far more than I can say,
I'd like to sit beside you
and pass the time of day,
and listen to your stories,
far better than a play,
and take your hand and say goodbye,
before you slipped away.

And while the music's playing
you feel so close at hand,
with your pipe there in your pocket,
and your matches in your hand.
But you're gone before it's over –
that always was your way.
But I wish we'd had a chance to talk
before you slipped away.
Far more than I can say,
far more than I can say,
I'd like to sit beside you
and pass the time of day,
and listen to your stories,
far better than a play,
and take your hand and say goodbye,
before you slipped away.