TRIBUTE TO A BLACK FIRE FIGHTER I heard the engines' clanging gongs, A block or two away. And then I saw the raging fire, Dark smoke and waters' spray. I saw the shiny ladder As it reached up to the wall. And then I saw him climbing, Climbing upward, toward the call. His black hands gripped the ladder, Which he climbed with sured pace. The smoke engulfed his body. Flames danced about his face. "I can't hold on! Please help me!" A youthful voice, a pleading cry. "Hold on! I'm coming!" Was his firm assured reply. The roof began to crumble. The buildings' end was near. Those below began to scatter At the sound which filled their ears. His dark face was gripped with horror, His mind was seized by fear. As he reached the firey window He heard - "Swing the ladder clear!" In that next heroic moment As I closed my eyes to pray, A black hand grasped the child and lifted him away. There atop the ladder Clearly seen by every eye, Were the fireman and child Dark silhouettes against the sky He was grimy, and hot and haggard As he stepped down to the ground. A cheer arose - he smiled, But he never turned around. When a reporter asked his name, I heard him quietly say - "NO NAME PLEASE" "Compared to bigotry and other barriers I've overcome, This was an easy day."JAMES 0. ROGERS, Author |
