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 did I see,
No tinsel, no presents,
not even a tree.
No stockings by the 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 the house of a soldier,
once I could see clearly.
The soldier lay sleeping
silent, alone,
curled upon 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 just read?
Curled up on a poncho,
the floor for a bed?
I realized the families
I saw on this night,
owed their lives
to these soldiers,
who were willing to fight.
Soon around 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 drifted to sleep,
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 nights chill.
I didn't want to leave
on that cold, dark night.
This Guradian of Honor
so willing to fight.
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!