‘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, strange sights I did see,
No tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
No stocking by the mantel, 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 the house 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 such 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 grown-ups 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, all is secure.”
One look at my watch, and I knew he was right.
“Merry Christmas, my friend, and to all, a good night.”