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A Firefighter’s Gloves
A Firefighter’s Gloves hold many things; from elderly arms to a kids
broken swing;
From the hands they shake and the backs they pat; to the tiny claw marks
of another treed cat.
At 2:00 a.m. they are filled with the chrome; from the DWI who was on
his way home.
And the equipment they use to roll back the dash; from a family of 6 he
involved in the crash.
They hold inch and three quarters flowing i75; so the ones going in,
come back our alive.
When the regulator goes; and there isn’t much, but the bypass valve they
eagerly clutch
The equipment, the ropes, the oxygen and C-collars; the lives that they
save never measured in dollars,
Are the obvious things a firefighters gloves hold; or, so that is what
I’ve always been 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 3:00 a.m. 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 glove is a just a glove till it’s on firefighters; who work all day
long just to pull an all-nighter;
And into the fire they charge without fear; at the sound of a “Help”
they think that they hear.
When firefighters hands go into the glove; it’s a firefighter who always
fill it with love,
Sometimes the sorrow is too much to bear; and it seeps in the glove and
burns deep “in there.”
Off comes the gloves when the call is done; and into the pocket until
the next run,
And though some are paid and others are not; the gloves feel the same
when its cold or its 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 close by
my side,
Because like a fellow comrade, through thick and thin; my glove have
always been with me until the end.
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