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 house did live. I looked all about, a strange sight i did see, no tinsel, no present's, not even a tree. No stocking by the mantle, just boots filled with sand, on the wall hung pictures of far distant land's. With medals and badges awards of all kinds a sober thought came though my mind. For this house was different, it was dark and dreary i found the home of a soldier, once i could see clealy. 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 whome 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 up's would celeprate 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 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 nights 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 its christmas day,all is secure." One look at my watch, and i know he was right: merry christmas my friend, and to all a good night.