Pete Crowther Poems

Amongst the ancient artefacts unearthed
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Sweet child of love we welcome thee
To share our lives dear Bethany.
A tiny miracle you seem,
Perfect beyond our wildest dream,
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This is magic
old as the Earth
yet young as we
in the wine-dark sky
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Drank too much at Sunday lunch
had a nap and woke at five,
thought it was morning and felt
like hell. Slumped in front
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On Death’s road,
My mother met a great ice barrier;
She wished to speak,
It was too late,
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When I am dead my dearest
Do not give way to grief
But put aside your misery
And let your heart be glad.
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This pretty girl has style and flair,
Will she invite me to her lair?
I swear there's something in the air.
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It’s very odd to think we all
Live out our lives on a spinning ball
Along with creatures strange and various—
The situation sounds precarious!
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Mournful indeed is the bell of the buoy
That rolls in the wash of wave and tide.
Some places there are I’ve never been
Though I’ve seen them afar from the sea.
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I am a poor sleeper and rise early
But no need to sympathize,
There are compensations:
Most mornings I see the dawn
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