Lest We Forget

Since this has been the month of poetry at Time Out for Mom, I thought this poem by an unknown author would be the perfect reminder to us all to Thank A Solider today.

The Poem of the Unknown Soldier

'Twas the night before Christmas.
He lived all alone
In a one-bedroom house,
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 a far distant land.

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 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."

"I dream of giving birth to a child who will ask, "Mother, what was war?"
Eve Merriam