PAGEY (A skiing friend lost to cancer)

What is it stirs our spirit when we think of Peter page?
Friends, I reckon we see images that time will never age.
For some it’s of a raging surf, a young man in his prime,
Catching waves that mortals shirk, time after time.
For me it’s on a mountain peak, deep with powder snow,
Peter’s dulcet tones. “Now we have a window, come on let’s go.”
Then racing down the mountain, hot on Pagey’s heels.
You have to be a skier to know how great it feels.

But it’s not just the images we see each time we hear his name,
It’s knowing we were friends and we shared in life’s great game.
It’s the fun times up the mountain and wasn’t it just great,
When Pagey cooked us dinner with roast pork on the plate.
It’s knowing we were privilaged to share the fun times of his life,
To have memories of laughter and the occasional bit of strife.
As real friends always are, beside you in good times or in foul,
Pagey never faltered and you would never hear him growl.

Pagey had that special gift, it’s quite hard to explain.
For what he did he made look easy, and he never did complain.
Even if the surf was mountainous, or the snow was sloppy crud.
He would take it on with gusto and he rarely came a thud.
He had a personal confidence, that special thing called style.
No matter what the circumstance, he wore a grin across his dial.
With these words I toast his name and with the best of French Champagne.
Pagey he was special, a friend the likes of which, we’ll never see again.

Pikey.