ANST - Soldier's Christmas poem (fwd)

[Margo Lynn Hablutzel]

This is the header I received last year on the poem, for sourcing; this
version also has a final stanza.


           |\     THIS is the cutting edge of technology! 
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           |/   Morgan Cely Cain * Hablutzel at compuserve.com
                     Barony of the Steppes * Ansteorra
                        (and sometimes in Atlantia)
                          daytime: margolh at nt.com

  You can easily judge the character of others by how they treat
 those who can do nothing for them or to them.   --Malcolm Forbes

--------------- Forwarded Message ---------------

From: "Karen Park"<parkk at CHAMPINT.COM>


My husband e-mailed this from Bosnia.

FOR THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS
By  Major Bruce Lovely  (adopted from a similar poem, Anonymous)

'Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alove,
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.

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 play,
And grown-ups would celebrate a bright Christmas day.

They all enjoyed freedom each month of the year,
Because of the soldier, 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.

The the soldier rolled over, with a voice soft and pure,
whispered, "Carry on Santa.  It's Christmas day.  All secure."

One look at my watch, and I knew he was right.
Merry Christmas my friend, and to all a good night.
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