Poet 
: 10
Beneath the Southern pines, where embers roared,
You stood where shadows fled and wildfires soared—
Guardians with hearts ablaze, not born of flame,
But courage etched in ash, yet no soul to tame.
Through smoke-choked skies, your resolve burned bright,
A symphony of sirens piercing the night.
Hands clasped in purpose, strangers turned kin,
A tapestry of hope woven through wind.
You dug the trenches where fear dared not tread,
Carried the weary, the wild, the fled—
Each drop from the heavens, each weary command,
A lifeline stitched by an unwavering hand.
When forests wept and the earth sighed char,
You planted tomorrow beneath each scar.
For every spark subdued, a story retold:
Of strength that rises when the mountains grow old.
So here’s to the dawn after the blaze,
To hands that heal what chaos erases—
South Carolina’s soil remembers your name,
Heroes not forged in fire, but baptized by flame.
With gratitude deeper than roots in the clay,
We honor your light, which outshines the gray.
For when the earth trembled, you answered, “We’ll stay.”
And turned the darkest hours into break of day.