Christmas time is approaching, and our country is at war. While there are many who do not question this war and it's methods, there are most certainly a few who do question it, and whether is is anything more than a placebo to make the American public feel like "there's something being done."
Nevertheless, there are American soldiers overseas fighting for our country, and regardless of how misdirected the foreign policy that sent them there, the men and women fighting overseas are among the bravest and most noble our country has known. They are sacrificing themselves-- if not their lives, then the portion of their lives that could be spent at home with their family and loved ones-- for our country and our freedoms, and for that they deserve our eternal thanks.
I'm passing on this poem for them.
Lt. Col. Bruce W. Lovely, USAF, wrote this for Christmas 1993 while assigned to U.S. Forces Korea. It was subsequently printed in the "Fort Leavenworth Lamp" in 1995. (The author notes, "With apologies to Clement Moore who first wrote the story for his children in 1882. I also credit M/Sgt Noah Brazos Ross, a US Army 18th Field Artillery survivor of Utah Beach, France, Luxembourg, Belgium, Battle for the Ardennes, Deutschland, who wrote "Daddy's Christmas (Soldier's Christmas)" as a Bonita, Montague County, Texas, high school writing exercise in 1937.")
The message is just as powerful now as it was then. -Tom, Good Clean Fun Moderator -------------------------------------------------------------------------
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'd 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 grown-ups 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.
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.