HOME AND CHRISTMAS

I wish I could go home for Christmas, but here I sit in a muddy trench in France.

Next year I’ll be there with the ones I love, if the Lord above gives me one more chance.

But tomorrow we parachute across the Rhine, in support of Operation Varsity.

It’s been so long since I’ve heard from home, Christmas there was always green and bright.

Now we only dream of those wondrous times. Guadalcanal has become a long and bloody fight.

Everyone says we’ll be home this time next year. They say this war in Korea can’t last till then,

Then I’ll have the Merriest Christmas of them all; with peace and love and good will toward men.

I know that I’ll be home for the holidays. The Nurse said that I’ll be med-evac’d today.

A Viet Cong rocket was an early Christmas gift. My leg is gone... but I’ll be going home to stay.

I wanted a wonderful Christmas at home this year, but now it seems that I won’t be there.

The U.N. has decreed: Kuwait must be freed, and we have been sent here to do our share.

We’ll have to decorate whatever is at hand. Afghanistan has so few trees, of any kind;

But if I make it home, I swear: Next year, I’ll have the tallest, greenest tree that I can find.

If I could leave Iraq... just for the holidays, I’d do what I should have done so long before:

I would gather all my friends and loved ones, and say: “I love you all, and will, forevermore”.

Christmas is always lonely when you’re far away and if ever a dream came true, it would be this:

That all mankind could share this blessed time, at home...with those we love, in joyful bliss.

A SOLDIER'S CHRISTMAS

'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 little house lived.

As I looked all about, a strange sight I did see,
No tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.

No Stockings 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 sobering thought came through my mind.

For this house was different, it was dark and dreary,
The home of a soldier, I could now 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 picture 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 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 wondering 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 one knee and started to cry.

The soldier awakened and I heard a rough voice,
"Santa don't cry, for 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,
as 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.

~ Author Unknown *~