SergntMac
01-25-2003, 07:14 AM
A Patrolman's Departure, by Gabriel L. Nathan
They are standing straight and stoic, standing glove-to-glove,
It is raining, it is freezing, but they stand still for pain and love.
Their hat-brims hide their pain, and the torture in their eyes,
They cannot help but feel the void, when one of their own dies.
The service now is over, the widow staggers out,
all arms now at attention as the bagpipes cry and shout.
Flag-d***** casket on six shoulders, could this day get any worse?
A salute’s the silent answer, as they push him into a hearse.
Speeches done, songs sung, it’s time for the ride,
the cortege is enormous, like a head-of-state has died.
The lights roll infinitum and the grief is creeping past,
us citizens just stand here, we are all watching to the last.
We wonder over the pageantry, our heads shake in despair.
We debate that, as the three times seven shots pierce our air.
"oh, this didn’t have to happen...What an awful, tragic day...In this sea of pain and anguish, how will Justice find its way?"
But, as the ranks disperse, as they trudge back to their cars,
we know that the killer sits behind four walls of iron bars.
"They’ll put aside their grief, as they’ve been trained so well to do..."
for even crafty killers, can’t evade this mass of blue.
So, the funeral is over, the mayor has gone home.
Now I'm hearing some people question "are we well within the zone?"
"To put on such a costly show, for cops just pounding pavement..." And I ask myself how...Do we...measure a slain cop’s final payment.
To say the cost is inappropriate, to question that with scorn,
shows that you know nothing of the target that is worn.
On every cop’s vest, or, shirt, over every trooper’s heart,
It looks like a bulls eye, but it is just a star.
As a member of my Department's Pipe Band, I've seen too many of these days in my life. I pray I never see another.
SergntMac.
They are standing straight and stoic, standing glove-to-glove,
It is raining, it is freezing, but they stand still for pain and love.
Their hat-brims hide their pain, and the torture in their eyes,
They cannot help but feel the void, when one of their own dies.
The service now is over, the widow staggers out,
all arms now at attention as the bagpipes cry and shout.
Flag-d***** casket on six shoulders, could this day get any worse?
A salute’s the silent answer, as they push him into a hearse.
Speeches done, songs sung, it’s time for the ride,
the cortege is enormous, like a head-of-state has died.
The lights roll infinitum and the grief is creeping past,
us citizens just stand here, we are all watching to the last.
We wonder over the pageantry, our heads shake in despair.
We debate that, as the three times seven shots pierce our air.
"oh, this didn’t have to happen...What an awful, tragic day...In this sea of pain and anguish, how will Justice find its way?"
But, as the ranks disperse, as they trudge back to their cars,
we know that the killer sits behind four walls of iron bars.
"They’ll put aside their grief, as they’ve been trained so well to do..."
for even crafty killers, can’t evade this mass of blue.
So, the funeral is over, the mayor has gone home.
Now I'm hearing some people question "are we well within the zone?"
"To put on such a costly show, for cops just pounding pavement..." And I ask myself how...Do we...measure a slain cop’s final payment.
To say the cost is inappropriate, to question that with scorn,
shows that you know nothing of the target that is worn.
On every cop’s vest, or, shirt, over every trooper’s heart,
It looks like a bulls eye, but it is just a star.
As a member of my Department's Pipe Band, I've seen too many of these days in my life. I pray I never see another.
SergntMac.