John Luciano
One Of The Origionals
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 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 disorder,
not
how i pictured,
a true english 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 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,
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."
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 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 disorder,
not
how i pictured,
a true english 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 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,
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."
