A poem from a friend, an old school cop
So many have gathered together, people you don't even know,
Brothers and Sisters alike, who have all suffered a blow.
They have come from near and far, so many different places.
Among this sea of blue, exists nothing but somber faces.
While you stand at attention, so rigid and so numb,
you never wanted to believe that this day might come.
How you hoped you would never have to be in this line.
These indelible images, that will be forever frozen in time.
The line that serves and protects is always true,
a line that will never be anything but long, thin and blue.
Each one that wears the badge upon their chest,
knows that they are a breed unlike the rest.
Badges of silver and gold, adorned in black mourning bands,
all are spit and polish, white gloves on their hands.
Assembled together, paying homage to one of their own.
Always they will stand together, but today, they stand alone.
With precision steps, the honor guard will pass by,
and then skillfully, they will point their rifles to the sky.
In deference, rigid arms will be raised in salute,
while twenty-one shots will signal silent prayers of tribute.
Almost immediately, the soft whines of the pipes will commence,
praising our fallen hero with its melodic song of reverence.
As "Amazing Grace" reverberates it woeful tune in to your heart,
none will find solace when the sea of blue has been torn apart.