Comments about Pete Crowther
A Biker's Funeral
(In memory of Stephen (Reggie) Pearce
The wind blows cold through the churchyard trees
and sadly tolls the passing bell
as mourners shuffle up the leaf-strewn
narrow path between the leaning stones.
He was just twenty-five, so young,
so full of life, and love of life
and laughter — killed outright one night
in a head-on crash on his motorbike.
From far and wide we’ve gathered here
to pay respect to our young friend.
I’ve never seen the church so full,
oh death, how can you be so cruel?
Who will forget this ...
Nature By Night
Slowly the sun
sinks in the west
leaving the land
lit only by
light of the moon.
Things of the night
shun what is bright.