"Hey mom! He yelled from the attic door,
'What's these old heavy boots and hard hat for?"
With a lump in her throat and a tear stained cheek,
His mother swallowed and started to speak.
"Come here my son," his mother said,
"There's things to tell when I clear my head."
The past raced madly through her mind;
She searched her heart, the words to find.
At last she sighed and rubbed his hair,
And the words that followed I'd like to share.
"These boots and hat," she said with pride,
"were worn by a man with grit inside.
He wore them to help people in need,
Though facing danger would never concede.
Many of time in the dead of night,
He jumped in those boots and dashed out of sight,
To answer a call and not knowing for sure
What danger or heartache he may have to endure,
Your father, my son, was not like most dads,
It was mainly because of the job he had.
His life was devoted to all of mankind,
And just why he choose it, is not clear in my mind.
I've often regretted the life that we led,
When every third night I was alone in our bed.
But your mother is proud to say she was a part,
Of a man who possesses such a courageous heart.
Though, for all his discomfort and all of his pain,
The time he spent here was never in vain.
So the memories I've kept and the love I will save,
Are small consolations for the life that he gave.
Your father's days here made other's seem brighter,
For your father, my son, was a Firefighter.
