(In memory of Stephen (Reggie) Pearce <br />of Kilnsea,1980–2005) <br /> <br />The wind blows cold through the churchyard trees <br />and sadly tolls the passing bell <br />as mourners shuffle up the leaf-strewn <br />narrow path between the leaning stones. <br /> <br />He was just twenty-five, so young, <br />so full of life, and love of life <br />and laughter — killed outright one night <br />in a head-on crash on his motorbike. <br /> <br />From far and wide we’ve gathered here <br />to pay respect to our young friend. <br />I’ve never seen the church so full, <br />oh death, how can you be so cruel? <br /> <br /> Who will forget this funeral? <br />Four hundred strong in the nave we stood, <br />family and friends both young and old <br />and a phalanx of bikers in leathers and boots. <br /> <br />Between the holy platitudes <br />and hymns they played his favourite songs; <br />one had to smile to hear within <br />that ancient august church of stone <br /> <br />come belting out the vibrant tones <br />of modern rock and heavy metal. <br />Who can forget the coffin passing <br />in procession like a royal barque, <br /> <br />the biker’s helmet on its lid <br />resplendent in heraldic tones <br />— rich gules, azure, argent, or, <br />a shining light of knightly splendour? <br /> <br />Who will forget that send-off from <br />his fellow bikers when three score <br />or more bright gleaming motorcycles <br />with a thunderous roar led off the hearse?<br /><br />Pete Crowther<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-biker-s-funeral/
