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 site I did see, no tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
No stocking by mantle, just boots filled with sand, and on the wall pictures of far distant lands.
With medals and badges, awards of all kinds, a sobering thought came to my mind.
For this home was different, so dark and so dreary, the home of a Soldier, now 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 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 a bed?
I realized the families that I saw this night, owed thier lives to these Soldiers who were willing to fight.
Soon round the world, the children would play, grownups 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 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."
The Soldier rolled over and soon 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 evening'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."
Author Unknown |