fishhawk
12-24-2014, 11:20 AM
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 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,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 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 grownups 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 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 solider 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."
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 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 grownups 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 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 solider 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."