Coming September feelings will be on the raw side again, words will be said, questions will be asked.
Two towers, two fires and the Firemen whose job was to be there, which could had retreated but didn't.
The NYPD cops were there to try their hands restoring orden on the sudden chaos, they didn't need to climb those stairs, but they did, and when the proverbial #%&. hit the fan...they didn't retreat either.
My flag is always at half mast on 9/11 sporting a yellow ribbon, because I do believe they will come back.

The blue line is everywhere
from Frisco to Milwaukee,
crisscrossing all the States
from there to here;
"flat foot" someone called them
as they went by on their daily beat;
to be a cop they disdainful said is like
any other job, only one that's holding
a nightstick from nine to five
or doing the graveyand shift.

Then...Nine Eleven happened and
to everybody's utterly disbeliefs,
the cops kept going up the stairs
never thinking on retreat,
carrying down the wounded
and calming down the panicky;
they weren't no more "the fuzz"
they were the New York finest,
they were "the" police...

...when the world stopped coming down,
under the gray dust in the ruines we found...
the track of the unsefish "fuzz" going up
those darkened stairs trying to reach
just one more soul to save
even if it wasn't on their beat;
and we looked and looked but...
didn't found a cop still alive,
just a lonely crushed torch
and a broken nightstick.

Many years later we should remember
what before that fateful we didn't,
to give a nod of thanks and a smile
to the cop walking our neighborhood beat,
because he will be there, an old bull
or in new blues a rocky kid,
they will be there, even after the protesters
called them to be a bunch of "dirty pigs"
climbing the stairs to oblivion just to save,
of their tormentors, their sorry and ungrateful beings.