Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year

[jstans84]

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and Seasons Greetings to everyone else.

Remember this holiday season while you spend time with your loved ones to reflect on those who put their lives on the line to protect their nation. There are still many brave men and women who will spend the holidays covered in sand wishing they were home with their families but knowing that they are serving the greater good. To them I wish for the greatest Christmas present of all, to all return safely home.

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 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 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 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 wept 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."

Fixed all caps.

[Exhaust]

2/10 too many caps.

[just86]

0 /10

[jstans84]

Originally Posted by Exhaust

2/10 too many caps.

I copied and pasted it. Sorry.

Sent from my EVO using Tapatalk 2

[Calum]

Merry Christmas everyone. For those that enjoyed the first poem.

"The Men Who Sail Below

Now each of us, from time to time, have gazed upon the sea,
and watched the warships pulling out, to keep the country free.
And most of us have read a book, or heard a lousy tale,
about the men who sail these ships, through lightning wind and hale.

But there is a place within each ship, that legend fails to teach
it's down below the water line, and takes a awful toll,
a red hot metal living hell, those sailors call the hole.
It houses engines run by steam, that make the shafts go round,
a place of fire, noise and heat, that beats your spirit down.
Where boilers make a hellish heat, with blood of angry steam,
and molded gods without remorse are nightmares in your dreams

Where threat from the fires roar, is like living in doubt,
that any minute, would with scorn, escape and crush you out,
where turbines scream like tortured souls, alone and lost in hell.
Those men who keep the fires lit and make the engines run,
are strangers to the world of night, and rarely see the sun.

They have no time for man no beast, no tolerance for fear,
their aspect pays no living thing the tribute of a tear.
For there's not much that men can do, that these one's haven't done,
below the decks, deep in the hole, to make those engines run.
And every hour of every day they keep the watch in hell,
for if the fires ever fail, their ship's a useless shell.

When warships meet to have a war, upon an angry sea,
the men below just grimly smile at what their fate may be.
Turned too below, like men fore-doomed, who wear no battle cry,
it's well assumed that if they're hit, the men below will die.
For every day's a war down there, when the gauges all read red,
six hundred pounds of heated steam will kill you mighty dead.

So if you ever write their song or try to tell their tale,
the very words will make you hear, a fired furnace wall.
And people as a general rule, don't hear of men of steel,
so little's heard about this place, just inches from the keel.
But I can sing about this and try to make you see,
the hardened life of men down there, cause one of them is me.

I've seen these sweat soaked heroes fight, in superheated air,
to keep their ship alive and right, though no one knows they're there.
And thus they'll fight for ages on, till warships sail no more,
amid the boilers mighty heat and turbines hellish roar.
So when you see a ship pull out, to meet a warlike foe,
remember faintly if you can "the men who sail below"



Author Unknown"