'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 whom 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 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 floor for his 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 month of the year
Because of the soldiers, like the one lying here,
I couldn't help wonder how many lay alone,
On a 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 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 regiment."
The soldier rolled over and drifted off 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."
