A Soldier's Christmas Poem

‘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 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 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 their lives to these Soldiers who were willing to fight.

Soon round the world, the children would play, and 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 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.