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