Sirens and Horns

I'll tell you about the Traffic Cop Who stands on the road, a rigid prop. A whistle in hand, a stern, fixed stare, A battle with chaos, a daily affair. His uniform was bright, a badge on his chest, A symbol of order, put to the test. He waves his arms, he shouts with might, Trying to tame the traffic's plight. He sees the rush, the honks, the speed, A constant threat, a desperate need. For patience, for care, for rules obeyed, But drivers, it seems, are often swayed. By haste, anger, ego, and pride, Ignoring the warnings, they swiftly glide. A world of impatience, a race to be won, Leaving the officer feeling so undone. He's seen accidents, tears, and pain, A constant reminder of life's fragile chain. He's faced with insults, with threats, with scorn, A lonely figure, often forlorn. Yet still he stands, with a steadfast heart, Protecting lives, playing a vital part. A guardian of roads, a symbol of law, Deserving respect, a standing applaud. So next time you see him, with the whistle in hand, Remember the danger, the life in his stand. Show gratitude, patience, and care, For his service to all, beyond compare.