Christmas poem to the unknown soldier
Posted: Fri Dec 22, 2006 4:00 pmBelow is a heart-breaking poetic tribute to Our Boys at Christmas.
The poem is circulating by email around troops in Afghanistan and Iraq and their loved ones back home — yet no one knows who it is about or who wrote it.
Some say it was written by a Royal Marine, others reckon it was a US soldier. One theory claims it was written as long ago as the Second World War.
Either way, the message remains the same: This Christmas, remember our lads.
They are sacrificing their Christmas so that we can enjoy ours.
’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 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 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 grown-ups 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 and 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.”
The poem is circulating by email around troops in Afghanistan and Iraq and their loved ones back home — yet no one knows who it is about or who wrote it.
Some say it was written by a Royal Marine, others reckon it was a US soldier. One theory claims it was written as long ago as the Second World War.
Either way, the message remains the same: This Christmas, remember our lads.
They are sacrificing their Christmas so that we can enjoy ours.
’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 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 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 grown-ups 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 and 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.”
