T’WAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS, WHERE 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 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 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 DISORDER, NOT HOW I PICTURED, A TRUE 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 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 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 CONTINUED TO WEEP. I KEPT WATCH FOR HOURS, SO SILENT AND STILL, AND WE BOTH SHIVERED, FROM THE COLD NIGHT’S CHILL. I DID NOT 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..”
Ducks do have teeth... Just like hens. Epic poem. I sent it to some friends too. Who wrote it, do you know?
The original poem was actually written by a former U.S Marine Corporal James M. Schmidt. Schmidt was stationed in Washington, D.C. in 1987 when he wrote the poem originally titled "Merry Christmas, My Friend.", it has a few variations written by others,
A very touching poem and one that does leave a lump in your throat....... in particular if you have served.
Our American members version, God bless you all. 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 sober 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, I had to see more So I walked down the hall and pushed open the door. And there he lay sleeping silent alone, Curled up on the floor in his 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, a 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, the children would play, And grownups would celebrate on 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, I don’t ask for more, my life is my God, my country, my Corps.” 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!