A FIREFIGHTERS GLOVES
A Firefighters Gloves
hold many things
From elderly arms to a kids broken swings
From the hands they shake and the backs they pat
To the tiny claw marks of another treed cat
At 2 am they are filled with chrome
From the DWI who was on her way home
And the equipment they use to roll back the dash
From a family of 6 she involved in the crash
The brush rakes in spring wear the palms out
When the wind does a "90" to fill them with doubt
The thumb of the glove wipes sweat from the brow
Of the face of a firefighter who mutters "What now".
They hold inch and halves flowing one twenty five
so the ones going in, come back out alive
When the regulator goes; then there isn't too much,
but the bypass valve they eagerly clutch
The rescue equipment, the ropes, the C-collars;
The lives that they save never measured in dollars
are the obvious things firefighters gloves hold
or, so that is what I've been always told
But there are other things Firefighters Gloves touch
Those are the things we all need so much
They hold back the rage on that 3 am call
They hold in the fear when your lost in a hall
They hold back the pity, agony, sorrow
They hold in the desire to "Do it tomorrow"
A gloves just a glove till it's on firefighters
who work all day long just to pull an all-nighter
And into the fray they charge without fear
At the sound of a "Help" they think that they hear
When firefighters hands go into the gloves
It's a firefighter who always fills it with love
Sometimes the sorrow is too much to bear
And it seeps the glove and burns deep "in there"
Off comes the gloves when the call is done
And into the pocket until the next run
The hands become lonely and cold for a bit
and shake just a little thinking of it
And they sit there so red eyed with their gloves in their coats
The tears come so fast that furniture floats
They're not so brave now; their hands they can't hide
I guess it just means that their human inside
And though some are paid and others are not
The gloves feel the same when it's cold or it's hot
To someone you're helping to just get along
When you fill them with love, you always feel strong
And so when I go on my final big ride
I hope to have my gloves by my side
To show St. Peter at that heavenly gate
Cause as everyone knows; firefighters don't wait
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Angels
The call was
toned out in the middle of the night, as so many calls before.
A fully involved structure fire, so we knew what was in store.
But this run
would be different, as each of us would find.
It happened many years ago, but remains fresh in my mind.
As dispatch
confirmed entrapment, we felt our blood run cold,
two little girls were in the home, just 1 and 4 years old.
As each of us
responded, we found the time to pray,
“Please God, help them hang on, ‘cause help is on the
way.”
As we drew
nearer to the scene, a nightmare filled our eyes,
an all too familiar glow was lighting up the sky.
The fire had
already vented, and was streaming from the door,
flames showing from every window, from ceiling to the floor.
All the crews
turned to their work, on rescue and attack,
each giving their very best, to turn the fire back.
We charged
headlong into the fire, oblivious to the heat,
determined not to falter, refusing to admit defeat.
But in spite of
our best efforts, all trace of hope was gone,
and God had shown his mercy, by calling two angels home.
We sat upon the
steps of the trucks, men so tough and brave,
and shamelessly shed tears of grief for the girls we could not
save.
I asked God to
watch over them, to give them peace and rest,
and to please tell each one of them we did our very best.
I carry their
memory with me. I think of them now and then,
and ask for strength of body and mind, to keep this from
happening again.
**************************************************
They live among us, and
work among us. We pass them on the street, and in our local
markets and banks. Some may even be our neighbors.
We see them often, without giving them much thought. While most
of them
prefer to go about their daily lives without fanfare, when you
next see them, please take the time to look at them closely.
Look at their faces. Familiar, kind, smiling faces, that surely
mask the burden of memories and responsibilities they shoulder.
Look into their eyes. You will see eyes that are friendly, and
filled with a youthful sense of humor. Look deeply enough, and
you may glimpse some small evidence of the horrors they have
witnessed.
Look at their arms. Arms that are powerful, yet are used to
provide comfort and compassion.
Look at their hands. They likely reveal signs of scars and years
of hard work, but are capable of tenderness and caring.
Listen to them. You will hear laughing, boisterous voices filled
with the joy of life, because they have been exposed to so much
loss.
Then, before you turn away, please give them a smile, a wave, or
even a handshake, because that is the greatest gift they could
ever receive. No words are needed, because they will understand.
Who are these people that I am referring to?
While each individual is one of many, they are all as one, bound
together by many years of honor and tradition. They are, by the
grace of God and a little luck, America’s Firefighters!
**************************************************
LABOR OF LOVE
As the engines race by, I felt chills up my spine,
For there, in full turnout, rode that man of mine.
The weather was stormy; all rainy and slick,
It's a mystery to many what make these men tick.
My mind soon wandered, as I thought of the worse,
Hope it's soon over, and no one is hurt.
Turned on the radio; tried to stay calm,
Then heard: "Fire truck crashes answering alarm!"
"O Mercy! Have Mercy! Dear Heaven above,
Let nothing happen to that man I love!"
My prayers were soon answered with a call from the chief,
"Don't worry," he said, "there's no need for grief."
Your man is O.K. ~ nothing hurt but our pride...
Some fool and a false alarm!" His voice rang bitter inside.
So brave are the men who can meet the demand,
For this LABOR OF LOVE, only they understand.
**************************************************
