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‘Twas
the night before Christmas, and 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 whom in this home did
live.
I looked all about and a strange sight
did I see
No tinsel, no presents, not even a
tree.
No stocking by the mantle, just boots
filled with sand
On the wall hung pictures of a far
distant land.
With medals and badges, awards of all
kinds
A
sober thought came to my mind
For this house was different, dark and
dreary
It was the house of a soldier, I now
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 had read?
Curled up on a poncho, the floor for a
bed?
I realized the families I saw on this
night
Owed their lives to this soldier who
was 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
laying here.
I couldn’t help wonder how many lay
alone
On a cold Christmas Eve in a land from
home.
The very thought brought a tear to my
eye
And 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 drifted to
sleep
And I couldn’t control it, I started
to weep.
I kept watch for hours, so silent and
still
And we both shivered from the cold
night’s chill.
I didn’t want to leave on that cold,
dark night
This Guardian of Honor so willing to
fight.
The soldier rolled over and 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.
Major Bruce W.
Lovely |
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