'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 plan,
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.
