He wrote this poem:
It’s said that when we die, we fly
Aware for the first time of the air
Below our feet and behind our wings,
Feeling more intensely the heat of the sun
And in this death we see our life as if a dream.
Frantic, not knowing what will come next
Like a child’s nonsense rhyme.
But what if we fly now, lightened into nothing
Brightening for a moment like the embers of some meteorite
Glowing in the knowledge we love and are loved
And as we glide these thermals ride then tumble for a while
Knowing not whether we have travelled through eternity
Or taken our first step along some long forgotten country mile.
© Bernard Pearson