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I didn’t write this but it expresses my feelings and I felt led o share it with y’all. Thank you to those who gave of their lives an the lives of their families that we might have the freedom to celebrate holidays like Christmas!
Twas the night before Christmas,
he lived all alone,
In a one bedroom house
made of plaster & 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 the fire,
just boots filled with sand,
On the wall hung pictures
of far distant lands.With medals and badges,
awards of all kind
A sobering thought
came through my mind.
For this house was different,
so dark and dreary,
I knew I had found the home of a soldier,
once I could see clearly.I heard stories about them,
and I had to see more
So I walked down the hall
and pushed open the door.
And there he lay sleeping
silent and alone,
Curled up on the floor
in this one bedroom home.His face so gentle,
his room in such disorder,
Not how I pictured
a United States soldier.
Was this the hero
of whom I’d just read?
Curled up in his poncho,
the floor for his bed?His head was clean shaven,
his weathered face tan,
I soon understood
this was more than a man.
For I realized the families
that I saw that night
Owed their lives to these men
who were willing to fight.Soon ’round the world,
children would play,
And grownups would celebrate
a bright Christmas day.
They all enjoyed freedom
each month of the year,
Because of soldiers
like this one lying here.I couldn’t help wonder
how many lay alone
On a cold Christmas Eve
in a land far from home.
Just 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,
no more can be asked,
my life is duty, honor and comrades.”With that he rolled over
and drifted off into sleep,
I couldn’t control it,
I continued to weep.
I watched him for hours,
so silent and still,
I noticed he shivered
from the cold night’s chill.So I took off my jacket,
the one made of red,
And I covered this Soldier
from his toes to his head.
And I put on his T-shirt
of gray and black,
With an eagle and an Army patch
embroidered on back.And although it barely fit me,
I began to swell with pride,
And for a shining moment,
I was United States Army deep inside.
I didn’t want to leave him
on that cold dark night,
This guardian of honor
so willing to fight.Then the soldier rolled over,
whispered with a voice so clean and pure,
“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!I can never repay the debt owed to these guardians of our freedoms. Merry Christmas!
Thanks for sharing this Cyn…. ’tis a beautiful, l8ving, and thought provoking poem. No matter what continent we are on, or country we are in, we owe our freedoms to the brave men and women that keep us safe.
God Bless you, Merry Christmas, and have a wonderful, safe healthy prosperous happy New Year.
Cookie 😈
Cynthia…..that is a great poem. It took me back to my youth in Nam. I really could not understand what I had become. Must have been all the negativity and slings and arrows tossed at us by those Hippies. All we did in the disguise of freedom was spat upon. All the protests accomplished nothing. Life did not change….just carried on with “business as usual”. Perhaps as crossdressers, all combatents could meet in some huge field (maybe Gaskars Farm) and settle our differences with a good old fashioned purse slug out? No-body gets hurt (least not real bad), no-one gets killed or maimed and then we can all go home and live out our different lives in harmony. After all, war is fun….must be….it goes on more often than a video game conference/convention! Oh joy…….I suddenly woke up from that dream….why does this happen? I remember….it was that whack in the back of my head with an AK-47. Oh how I wish the Hippies and Soldiers back then could read this poem…..then maybe all would be different. Things did not change in Desert Storm nor are they changing in the Middle East….still, we can dream…peace would be a hell of a present wouldn’t it? It scares me to think of what could have been. Cynthia….thank you for this poem….it means a lot to me.. I salute you………Lady Veronica Graunwolf
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