As the bagpipes wail: A Police Memorial poem

Twenty-one guns sound off, for all those laid to rest.
One hundred thousand names on walls certainly do attest,
To the ultimate sacrifice each named officer has made,
On that day they stood and fought, but with their life they paid.

My mind wanders as the bagpipes wail, to names upon the wall,
Wondering what became of those souls, when came their turn to fall.
Did Agent Dove’s soul take flight to perch upon the pearly gate?
No one can tell, though he served us well, for that answer we must wait.

Did Dove’s boss, Grogan, a man well loved, who everyone called Ben,
Rise as he fell in that shot filled hell to find peace once again?
Did the Murphy’s meet the Ryan’s once they gave up the ghost?
To gather in heaven and laugh as one as they shared an Irish toast?

Does Liquori Tate still patrol upon the highways of heaven?
Does he take a break with Ben Deen at the Kingdom-Come Seven-Eleven?
Are uniforms eternally pressed and are boots forever shined?
Are the shifts all short, the weather fair and the Sergeants oh-so-kind?

Did St. Michael meet them at the gate and proudly extend his hand,
To thank them for their service to God, Family, and this land?
Did our Lord, himself, thank them for protecting his precious flock?
Did Peter stand by nod and smile as he stood there like a rock?

My thoughts suddenly brought back to Earth by the snap of a sharp salute.
Performed by one thousand veterans and one hundred young recruits.
The flags are unfurled, or folded and the crowd just slips way.
My questions go unanswered as the sun sets upon this day.

No one knows for certain what happens at the end.
I sense a new beginning and on that I must depend.
If Trooper Coates returned, he would reveal this truth to all,
Do your best and survive each test, but to rise we all must fall.

God bless our fallen brothers and sisters.

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