He's the guy next door
- a man's man with the memory of a little boy.
He has never gotten over the excitement of engines
and sirens and danger.
He's a guy like you and me
with wants and worries and unfulfilled dreams.
Yet he stands taller than most of us.
He's a firefighter.
He puts it all on the line when the bell rings.
A firefighter is at once the most fortunate
and the least fortunate of men.
He's a man who saves lives
because he has seen too much death.
He's a gentle man
because he has seen the awesome power
of violence out of control.
He's responsive to a child's laughter
because his arms have held too many small bodies
that will never laugh again.
He's a man who appreciates
the simple pleasure of life
-hot coffee held in numb, unbending fingers
-a warm bed for bone and muscle
compelled beyond feeling
-the camaraderie of brave men
-the divine peace and selfless service
of a job well done in the name of all men.
He doesn't wear buttons
or wave flags
or shout obscenities.
When he marches,
it is to honor a fallen comrade.
He doesn't preach the brotherhood of man.
He lives it.
