F.T.D
Midshipman
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 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 such disorder
not how I pictured
a lone British 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 wonder
how many 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 sat & shivered
from the cold night's chill.
I didn't 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."
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 such disorder
not how I pictured
a lone British 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 wonder
how many 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 sat & shivered
from the cold night's chill.
I didn't 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."
