The
streets are lined with firefighters,
Standing at attention,
Their uniforms, so freshly pressed,
Deserving of a mention.
Standing at attention,
Their uniforms, so freshly pressed,
Deserving of a mention.
The
flag-draped coffin then arrives,
The silence absolute
As, on command, each white-gloved hand
Is raised in crisp salute.
The silence absolute
As, on command, each white-gloved hand
Is raised in crisp salute.
The
widow, clinging to her kids,
Is gently led inside.
The church fills up, with all the seats
And aisles occupied.
Is gently led inside.
The church fills up, with all the seats
And aisles occupied.
The
eulogy’s predictable –
A hero died, of course.
The same most likely would be said
Of each one on the force.
A hero died, of course.
The same most likely would be said
Of each one on the force.
A
firefighter’s funeral
Is solemn, sad and proud,
A fitting tribute to a soul
Whose courage was unbowed.
Is solemn, sad and proud,
A fitting tribute to a soul
Whose courage was unbowed.
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