No subject

Stephen A. Frye s.frye at VERIZON.NET
Mon Dec 22 16:50:46 MST 2008


                 The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
                     I gazed round the room and I cherished the 
sight.
                         My wife was asleep, her head on my 
chest,
                          My daughter beside me, angelic in 
rest.
                         Outside the snow fell, a blanket of 
white,
                         Transforming the yard to a winter 
delight.


                        The sparkling lights in the tree I 
believe,
                        Completed the magic that was Christmas 
Eve.
                       My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was 
deep,
                        Secure and surrounded by love I would 
sleep.
                        In perfect contentment, or so it would 
seem,
                        So I slumbered, perhaps I started to 
dream.

                       The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too 
near,
                        But I opened my eyes when it tickled my 
ear.
                    Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know, Then 
the
                        sure sound of footsteps outside in the 
snow.
                        My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to 
hear,
                     And I crept to the door just to see who was 
near.

                    Standing out in the cold and the dark of the 
night,
                       A lone figure stood, his face weary and 
tight.
                        A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years 
old,
                        Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the 
cold.
                        Alone in the dark, he looked up and 
smiled,
                     Standing watch over me, and my wife and my 
child.


                        "What are you doing?" I asked without 
fear,
                       "Come in this moment, it's freezing out 
here!
                    Put down your pack, brush the snow from your 
sleeve,
                      You should be at home on a cold Christmas 
Eve!"
                         For barely a moment I saw his eyes 
shift,
                     Away from the cold and the snow blown in 
drifts..

                     To the window that danced with a warm fire's 
light
                     Then he sighed and he said "Its really all 
right,
                       I'm out here by choice. I'm here every 
night."
                      "It's my duty to stand at the front of the 
line,
                       That separates you from the darkest of 
times.

                          No one had to ask or beg or implore 
me,
                     I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before 
me.
                      My Gramps died at 'Pearl on a day in 
December,"
                Then he sighed, "That's a Christmas 'Gram always 
remembers."
                      My dad stood his watch in the jungles of 
'Nam',
                          And now it is my turn and so, here I 
am.

                       I've not seen my own son in more than a 
while,
                  But my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her 
smile.
                     Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his 
bag,
                       The red, white, and blue... an American 
flag.
                      I can live through the cold and the being 
alone,
                         Away from my family, my house and my 
home.

                   I can stand at my post through the rain and the 
sleet,
                        I can sleep in a foxhole with little to 
eat.
                         I can carry the weight of killing 
another,
                      Or lay down my life with my sister and 
brother..
                        Who stand at the front against any and 
all,
                   To ensure for all time that this flag will not 
fall."

                      "So go back inside," he said, "harbor no 
fright,
                       Your family is waiting and I'll be all 
right."
                     "But isn't there something I can do, at the 
least,
                    "Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a 
feast?
                     It seems all too little for all that you've 
done,
                        For being away from your wife and your 
son."

                      Then his eye welled a tear that held no 
regret,
                        "Just tell us you love us, and never 
forget.
                   To fight for our rights back at home while we're 
gone,
                        To stand your own watch, no matter how 
long.
                      For when we come home, either standing or 
dead,
                        To know you remember we fought and we 
bled.
                      Is payment enough, and with that we will 
trust,
                      That we mattered to you as you mattered to 
us."


Stephen A. Frye
s.frye at verizon.net 



More information about the Rushtalk mailing list