A Hundred Engines

A hundred engines in the queue,
polished, gleaming, old and new

A hundred engines come to life,
mourning diesel: drum and fife

Four hundred wheels begin to wend,
stretching miles end to end

On bridges and beside the road,
on median freshly mowed,

With hands on hearts, or with heads bowed,
strangers stopped to watch us pass.
They stand in knots, their shoulders crowd,
now gone,
outside the engine's glass.

Our brother takes his final ride,
A hundred engines parked outside.

A hundred engines, old and new,
heading home, there's work to do.

A hundred engines.

Still, too few.

In Memory of Daniel B. Packer, Fire Chief
1958 - 2008