Kapitan
11-26-07, 11:03 AM
T'was the night before Christmas, he lived all alone
in a one-bedroomed 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 the 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'd 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-bedroomed home
his face was so gentle, the room in such disorder
not how I pictured a lone British soldier.
Was this the hero of whom I'd just read
curled up on a poncho, the floor for a bed?
I realised the families that I'd seen this night
owed their lives to these soldiers who were willing to fight
soon around the world the children would play
and grown-ups would celebrate a bright Christmas day
They all enjoy freedom each month of the year
because of the soldiers, like the one lying here
I couldn't help wonder how many more were 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 sat and shivered from the cold nights chill
I didn't want to leave on that cold dark night
this guardian of honour 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'
This poem was written by a peace keeping soldier stationed overseas
in a one-bedroomed 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 the 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'd 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-bedroomed home
his face was so gentle, the room in such disorder
not how I pictured a lone British soldier.
Was this the hero of whom I'd just read
curled up on a poncho, the floor for a bed?
I realised the families that I'd seen this night
owed their lives to these soldiers who were willing to fight
soon around the world the children would play
and grown-ups would celebrate a bright Christmas day
They all enjoy freedom each month of the year
because of the soldiers, like the one lying here
I couldn't help wonder how many more were 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 sat and shivered from the cold nights chill
I didn't want to leave on that cold dark night
this guardian of honour 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'
This poem was written by a peace keeping soldier stationed overseas