I don't know the real title of this poem.
T'was the night before Christmas, he lived all lone
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 stockings by mantle, just boots filled with sand
On the wall hung pictures of far distant lands
With medals and badges and 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 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 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 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.
by: A Marine--Okinawa, Japan
T'was the night before Christmas, he lived all lone
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 stockings by mantle, just boots filled with sand
On the wall hung pictures of far distant lands
With medals and badges and 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 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 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 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.
by: A Marine--Okinawa, Japan
