Twas The Night Before Christmas,
He lived all alone,
in a one bedroom house
made of plaster and stone.
I had come down the chimney
with presents to give,
and to see just who
in this home did live.
I looked all about,
a strange site I did see,
no tinsel, no presents,
not even a tree.
No stocking by mantle,
just boots filled with sand,
and on the wall pictures
of far distant lands.
With medals and badges,
awards of all kinds,
a sobering thought
came to my mind.
For this home was different,
so dark and so dreary,
the home of a Soldier,
now I could see clearly.
The Soldier lay sleeping,
silent, alone.
Curled up on the floor
in this one bedroom home.
The face was so gentle,
the room in disorder,
not how I pictured
a United States Soldier.
Was this the hero
of whom I'd just read?
Curled up on a poncho,
the floor for a bed?
I realized the families
that I saw this night,
owed thier lives to these Soldiers
who were willing to fight.
Soon round the world,
the children would play,
grownups would celebrate
a bright Christmas day.
They all enjoyed freedom
each month of the year,
because of the Soldiers,
like the one lying here.
I couldn't help wonder
how many lay alone,
on a cold Christmas Eve
in a land far from home.
The very thought
brought a tear to my eye,
I dropped to my knees
and started to cry.
The Soldier awakened
and I heard a rough voice,
"Santa don't cry,
this life is my choice;
I fight for freedom,
I don't ask for more,
my life is my God,
my Country, my Corps."
The Soldier rolled over
and soon drifted to sleep,
I couldn't control it,
I continued to weep.
I kept watch for hours,
so silent and still,
and we both shivered
from the cold evening's chill.
I didn't want to leave
on that cold, dark night,
this guardian of Honor
so willing to fight.
Then the Soldier rolled over,
with a voice soft and pure,
whispered, "Carry on Santa,
It's Christmas Day, all is secure."
One look at my watch,
and I knew he was right.
"Merry Christmas my Friend,
And To All a Good Night."
Author Unknown |
