IN 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
SUCH DISORDER, NOT HOW I PICTURED A UNITED STATES SOLDIER.
WAS THIS
THE HERO OF WHOM ID
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 COULDNT 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 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."
This
poem was written by a Marine stationed in Okinawa Japan.
No comments:
Post a Comment