Santa’s Poem

The last ode to a soldier that inspired me was “Tommy’ from Rudyard Kipling.

Someone sent me this Santa’s Poem (Santa Claus, not the crazy Santa Banta joke) – it is quite inspirational.

So I thought I will share it with you.

Santa’s Poem

 T was the night before Christmas,
he lived all alone,
in a one bedroom house, probably a bunker,
made of plaster and stone.

I 'd come down the chimney,
with presents to give,
and just to see 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 then sober thought,
came through my mind.

For this house was different,
it was dark and dreary,
I’d found the home of a soldier,
once I could see clearly.

The soldier lay sleeping,
silent, alone,
curled up on the floor,
in this bunker like home.

The face was so gentle,
the room in  disorder,
not how I had pictured,
a true fighting 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 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 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,
its 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."