Letter: This poem was written by a peacekeeping soldier stationed overseas. The following is his request.

Soldier’s Poem

’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 mantel,

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 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 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.

Les Morgan

Shrewsbury