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Revd wayne Foster

Poem Of The Unknown Soldier

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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.

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Thankyou for that, a mate of mine gave me a copy of the one i posted when he got back from iraq.

So many of our lad's had read it but no one could find out who wrote it.

I think it's the best thing i have ever read, i can't read it without a tear in my eye.

It sort of sum's thing's up.

What do you think?

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I have had my share of christmas' that are close to that home description. This year will be another like it. but likely a tent rather then a building.

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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.

Love that poem no matter how many times I read it.

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