"Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone,
In a one bedroom house made of shell-blasted stone."
I had come down the chimney with presents to give
And to see just who in this bleak home did live.
I look all about, a strange sight I did 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 far distant lands.
There were medals and badges, awards of all kinds,
A sobering thought came into my mind.
For this house was different, it was dark and dreary,
I had found the home of a soldier, once I could see clearly.
The soldier lay sleeping, silent, alone,
Curled up on the floor of this shell-blasted 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 rough 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 Christmas Day.
They enjoyed freedom each month of the year,
Because of soldiers, like the one lying here.
I had to 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".
I kept watch for hours, so silent and still,
And we both shivered from the cold night's chill.
Then the soldier rolled over, with a voice soft and sure,
Whispered, "Carry on Santa. It's Christmas, and all is secure."