T
was the night before Christmas, he lived all alone,
I
had come down the chimney, with presents to give,
I
looked all about, a strange sight I did see,
N
o stocking by mantle, just boots filled with sand,
W
ith medals and badges, awards of all kinds,
F
or this house was different,
T
he soldier lay sleeping, silent, alone,
T
he face was so gentle, the room in such disorder,
W
as this the hero of whom I'd just read?
I
realized the families that I saw this night,
S
oon round the world, the children would play,
T
hey all enjoyed freedom each month of the year,
I
couldn't help wonder, how many lay alone,
T
he very thought brought, a tear to my eye,
T
he soldier awakened and I heard a rough voice,
T
he soldier rolled over and drifted to sleep,
I
kept watch for hours, so silent and still
I
didn't want to leave, on that cold, dark, night,
T
hen the soldier rolled over,
O
ne look at my watch, and I knew he was right,
In a one bedroom house, made of plaster and stone.
And to see just who in this home did live.
No tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
On the wall hung pictures, of far distant lands.
A sober thought, came through my mind.
It was dark and dreary,
I found the home of a soldier...
once I could see clearly.
Curled up on the floor, in this one bedroom home.
Not how I pictured a Country's brave soldier.
Curled up on a poncho, the floor for a bed?
Owed their lives to these soldiers, who were willing to fight.
And grownups would celebrate, a bright Christmas Day.
Because of the soldiers, like the one lying here.
On a cold Christmas Eve, in a land far from home.
I dropped to my knees, and started to cry.
"Santa don't cry, this life is my choice;
I fight for freedom, I don't ask for more,
My life is God, my country, my corps."
I couldn't control it, I continued to weep.
And we both shivered, from the cold night's chill.
This guardian of honor, so willing to fight.
With a voice soft and pure,
Whispered, "carry on Santa,
It's Christmas Day, all is secure."
Merry Christmas my friend, and to all a good night.
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