I had come down the chimney with presents to give and to see just who in this house did live.
I looked all about, a strange sight I did see, no tinsle, 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 home of a soldier once I could see clearly.
This 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 just read, curled up in a poncho, the floor for a bed?
I realized the families I saw that night, owed a lot to the soldiers who were willing to fight.
Soon around the world the children would play, 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 couldnt help wonder how many lay alone, on a cold Christmas Eve in a land so 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 dont cry, this life is my choice.
I fight for freedom, I dont ask for more, my life is my God, my country, my Corp.
The soldier rolled over and drifted to sleep, I couldnt control it, I continued to weep.
I kept watch for hours so silent and still, and we both shivered from the cold nights chill.
I didnt want to leave on this cold dark night, this Gaurdian of Honor so willing to fight.
Then the soldier rolled over with a voice soft and pure and whispered carry on Santa all is secure.
I looked at my watch and knew he was right, Merry Christmas my friend and to all a good night.
