Brother, when you weep fro me, remember that it was ment to be. Lay me down and when you leave, remember I'll be at your sleeve. In every dark hall, I'll be there as you slowly crawl. On every roof in driving snow, I will hold your coat, and you will know. In cellars hot with searing heat, at windows where a gate you meet. In closets whare children hide, you know I'll be there at your side. The house from which I now respond, is overstaffed with heros gone. Men who answered one last bell, did he job, and did it well. As firemen we understand, that death is a card delt in our hand. A card we hope is never played, but one we hold there anyway. That card is something we ignore, as we crawl across the weakened floor. For we know we're the only prayer for anyone who might be there. So remember as you wipe your tears, I joy I knew throughout the years. As I did the job I loved to do, I pray that thought will see you through.

-Author Unknown