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| 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 just 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 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. 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 picture 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 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 but 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, the Army." 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, And we both shivered from the cold night'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." |
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