This poem was printed in our local Island paper. At the bottom it was written that 'this poem was by an Australian Peacekeeping Soldier stationed overseas. His request, send this to as many people as you can. Credit is due to all of the service men and women for our being able to celebrate Christmas. Let's try to pay a bit of what we owe to these heroes.'
My contribution is small by including this lovely poem in my little blog but if you can link back to me or publish this on your blog or read this to your family, my little contribution will be bigger....Merry Christmas Kiss Noises Linda.
T'was The Night Before Christmas.
T’was 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 I did see,
No tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
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 disorder,
Not how I pictured, an Australian 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 night’s chill.
I did not want to leave, on that cold, dark, night,
This guardian of honour, 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.”
