In a one-bedroom house made of plaster and stone.
I had come down the chimney with presents to give
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 walls 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 upon 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 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 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 fought 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 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.”
