Tuesday, December 24, 2019

Merry Christmas, My Friend


 Merry Christmas, My Friend


By James M. Schmidt, a Marine Lance Corporal
stationed in Washington, D.C., in 1986

Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone,
In a one bedroom house made of plaster & stone.


I had come down the chimney, with presents to give
and to see just who in this home did live.


As I looked all about, a strange sight I did see,
no tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.

No stocking by the fire, just boots filled with sand.
On the wall hung pictures of a far distant land.


With medals and badges, awards of all kind,
a sobering thought soon came to my mind.

For this house was different, unlike any I'd seen.
This was the home of a U.S. Marine.


I'd heard stories about them, I had to see more,
so I walked down the hall and pushed open the door.

And there he lay sleeping, silent, alone,
Curled up on the floor in his one-bedroom home.


He seemed so gentle, his face so serene,
Not how I pictured a U.S. Marine.

Was this the hero, of whom I’d just read?
Curled up in his poncho, a floor for his bed?


His head was clean-shaven, his weathered face tan.
I soon understood, this was more than a man.

For I realized the families that I saw that night,
owed their lives to these men, who were willing to fight.


Soon around the Nation, the children would play,
And grown-ups would celebrate on a bright Christmas day.

They all enjoyed freedom, each month and all year,
because of Marines like this one lying here.


I couldn’t help wonder how many lay alone,
on a cold Christmas Eve, in a land far from home.

Just the very thought brought a tear to my eye.
I dropped to my knees and I started to cry.


He must have awoken, for 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."


With that he rolled over, drifted off into sleep,
I couldn't control it, I continued to weep.


I watched him for hours, so silent and still.
I noticed he shivered from the cold night's chill.

So I took off my jacket, the one made of red,
and covered this Marine from his toes to his head.


Then I put on his T-shirt of scarlet and gold,
with an eagle, globe and anchor emblazoned so bold.

And although it barely fit me, my chest swelled with pride,
and for one shining moment, I was Marine Corps inside.


I didn't want to leave him so quiet in the night,
this guardian of honor so willing to fight.

But half asleep he rolled over, and in a voice clean and pure,
said "Carry on, Santa, it's Christmas Day, all secure."


One look at my watch and I knew he was right,
Merry Christmas my friend, Semper Fi and goodnight.


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