In a one bedroom house made of sandbags and stone.
I had just come down the chimney with presents to give,
And to see just who in this rattrap of a home would live.
I looked all about, a strange sight did I see,
No tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
No stockings by mantle, just boots filled with sand,
On the wall hung pictures of friends in far distant lands.
With medals and badges, awards of all kinds,
A sobering thought then came through my mind.
For this house was different, it was dark and dreary,
I found the home of a soldier, once I could see clearly.
The soldier lay sleeping, silent, alone,
Curled up on the floor of 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 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 day of the year,
Because of the soldiers, like the one resting 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,
say `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 continued to weep.
I kept watch for hours, so silent and still,
As we both shivered from the cold, dark night's chill.
I didn't want to leave on the quiet, bleak 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, and all is secure'.
One look at my watch, and I knew he was right,
Merry Christmas, my friend, and to all a good night.
