By Trent Rosser
Every year around this time, I print this version of “Twas the Night Before Christmas”. I will continue to make sure this is repeated every year. I have still yet to find out who is the original person that revised this poem. A few people across the internet has taken credit for it, and I am not sure who the real one is. Whoever did revise this, did an excellent job. Again, to all the men and women serving away from home this Christmas, Thank you and Merry Christmas.
The Soldier's Night before 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 home did live.
I looked all about, a strange sight I did see,
No tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
No stockings by the fire, just boots filled with sand,
on the wall hung pictures of far distant lands.
With medal and badges, awards of all kind
a sober thought came through my mind.
for this house was different, so dark and dreary,
I knew I had found the home of a soldier, once I could see clearly.
I heard stories about them, I had to see more,
So I walked down the hall and pushed open the door.
And there he lay sleeping silent alone,
curled up on the floor in his one bedroom home.
His face was so gentle, his room in such a disorder,
not how I pictured a United States soldier.
Was this the hero of whom I’d just read,
curled up in his pancho, a floor for his bed?
His head was clean shaven, his weather face tan,
I soon understood this was more than a man,
For I realize the families that I say that night,
owed their lives to these men who were willing to fight
Soon ‘round the world, the children would play,
And grownups would celebrate on a bright Christmas day.
They all enjoyed freedom each month of the year,
because of soldiers like this one lying here
I couldn’t help wonder how many lay alone,
On a cold Christmas Eve in a land far from home.
Just 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.”
With that he rolled over and drifted off to sleep,
I couldn’t control it, I continued to weep.
I watched him for hours, so silent and still,
I noticed he shivered from the cold night's chill.
So I took off my jacket, the one made of red,
And I covered this soldier from his toes to his head
And I put on his T-Shirt of gray and black
with an eagle and a military patch embroidered on the back
Although it barely fit me, I began to swell with pride
And for a shining moment, I was United States Military deep inside
I didn’t want to leave him on that cold dark night,
This guardian of honor so willing to fight
Then the soldier rolled over, whispered with a voice so clean and pure
“Carry on Santa, it’s Christmas Day, all is secure
One look at my watch, and knew he was right,
Merry Christmas my friend and to al a good night
Rosser