Twas the Night Before Christmas
'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 sight I did see,
no tinsel, no presents,
not even a tree.
No stocking by mantle,
just boots filled with sand,
on the wall hung pictures
of far distant lands.
With medals and badges,
awards of all kinds,
a sober thought came
through my mind.
For this house was different,
it was dark and dreary,
I found a soldier,
once 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 such a 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 their lives to these soldiers
who were willing to fight.
Soon round the world,
the children would play,
and grownups would celebrate
a bright Christmas Day.
They enjoyed freedom
each month of the year,
because of the soldiers,
like the one lying here.
I couldn't help but 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 me 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,
don't ask for more,
my life is my God,
my country, my corps."
The soldier rolled over
and 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
rom the cold night'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."
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