[Ansteorra] Veterans

[Bob Dewart]

You owe me a box of tissue paper.

Gilli

Shoot more arrows.  You're bound to hit something.
----- Original Message -----
From: "Paul DeLisle" <ferret at hot.rr.com>
To: <ansteorra at ansteorra.org>
Sent: Wednesday, November 13, 2002 10:11 PM
Subject: RE: [Ansteorra] Veterans


> > They are the gentle souls whose hearts are broken by the
> > deaths of brothers-in-arms and the nasty behavior of those they
> > protect.  If you're a Vet - or in active service - stand up!
> > Get those shoulders back! And know you are deeply appreciated.
> > Gerita
>
> This is a month-or-so out of date...but I've always found it
> appropriate...and moving. If you know a Vet...send this to them in a month
> or so...
>
>
> 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 did I 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 found the house 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 of whom I just read?
> Curled up on a poncho, the floor for a bed?
> I realized the families I saw on 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 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 started 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 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 Marine stationed in Okinawa, Japan.)
>
>
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