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 did I 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 sobering thought came through my mind.

For this house was different, It was dark and it was dreary,

I'd found the house of a soldier, Once I could see clearly.

The soldier lay sleeping, silent, alone, curled upon the floor in this one-bedroom home.

The face was so gentle, the room in such disorder, not how I pictured a United States 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 I saw on 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 started to weep.

I kept watch for hours, so silent and still and we both shivered from the cold night's chill.

I didn't want to leave on that cold, dark night, this Guardian of Honor, 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.