They
started
the day
with a
stretch
and a
yawn,
Coffee
was
downed,
long
before
dawn,
Bacon
and
eggs,
with a
side of
light
banter,
Served
straight
up with
firehouse
candor.
Out to
check
trucks,
inspect
every
pumper,
And test
all the
gear
from
bumper
to
bumper.
Amidst
conversations
and
playful
jibes,
Came the
call,
then
fast-paced
strides.
Quickly
manned
trucks
hit the
street,
Not
knowing,
but
trusting,
what
fate
they'd
meet.
They
rolled
from the
station,
a little
before
nine,
Soon to
grasp
horror
that
would
change
all
time.
On the
horizon,
stood
our
towers
of
trade,
An
inferno
of hell,
and
people
afraid,
Running
for life
and
crying
to God,
Billowing
Black
Death,
where
life had
trod,
And in
go these
warriors
of such
a brave
clan,
To
rescue
and aid
every
woman
and man,
But
sadly,
for many
it will
be their
last
call,
They'll
die with
all
honor of
giving
their
all.
It
wasn't
for
money,
or
glory,
or fame,
It
wasn't
for
vanity,
so you'd
remember
their
name,
"It's
just
what we
do,"
they'd
modestly
say,
So
remember
tonight
when you
kneel
down to
pray,
God
bless
these
brave
souls,
so
gentle,
so
tough,
Lord
take
them to
heaven,
they've
given
enough!
Sharon Frye
©
2003 used with permission
Heroes of the Heart
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