Composed by Lauren Clifford, Poet Laureate of Newtown, this was read during the Bridge Dedication Ceremony conducted at Sandy Hook Volunteer Fire & Rescue’s main station on Saturday, July 20.

He was raised in a firefighter’s house—

A home where relatives spoke of smoke battled,

Of nerves rattled, of miraculous outcomes,

Of those who succumbed.

He admired his family’s courage and listened intently

To that assembly of Aunt, Uncle,

Brother, Father, Mother, Grandmother.

He knew that one day, he too, would have anecdotes

That he would quote from memory, for he would take that same pledge

To go to the edge near the glow of the inferno to save lives.

His lineage was a collector of protectors.

.

He trained in a firefighter’s house—

A station, a base, a place to learn how to tame the flames,

How to distinguish the first ones to extinguish,

How to appraise the blaze,

How to fight against the light of peril.

Getting a call, he would haul his equipment to the truck,

And drive up the ridge, and over the bridge in any weather,

Whether early or late, whether wired with caffeine

Or tired with fatigue, he wanted to go save lives because

His lineage was a collector of protectors.

.

He did his best work in a firefighter’s house—

Although his name wasn’t on the deed,

In its time of need, it was a firefighter’s house—

It belonged to the hands that held the hose, that rose the ax

To make deep cracks in Death’s door,

The hands that searched the floor to pull the inhabitants to safety.

He put himself in harm’s way keeping the flames at bay,

And ascended the ranks, becoming Chief and giving thanks that

His lineage was a collector of protectors.

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After each job, he went home to his own firefighter’s house—

He rested, weary from dueling the grueling heat,

Willing to repeat his noble actions the next morning,

No stranger to the danger and risk.

But after decades in the line of duty, this line ended—

He had to leave his own firefighter’s house.

The cause: occupational, the effect: irreplaceable.

The widow’s window reflected the heartache most clearly.

The firefighter’s house was forlorn, the community mourned

Missing its fearless leader, but was honored to have had

Someone whose lineage was a collector of protectors.

.

She was raised in a firefighter’s house—

She remembers her father always in a race to chase away

The scorching monsters that threatened the town.

He was a selfless hero to her and the town concurred.

Now grown up, she sits in the driver’s seat,

Ready to defeat another emergency.

With urgency, she drives up the ridge and over the bridge

Just as her father did to serve the community.

She does what’s innate, for that is her fate,

For she is part of her father’s legacy.

Her lineage is a collector of protectors.