Words: James M. Schmidt, 1986
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.
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 mind.
For this house was different, unlike any I’d seen.
This was the house 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 of 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 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 but 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.
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 eaglr, globe, and anchor emblozened so gold.
And although it barely fit me, I began to swell with pride,
And for one shining moment, I was a marine corps deep inside.
I didn’t want to leave him so quiet in the night,
This guardian of honor so willing to fight.
But half aseep he rolled over, and in a voice clean and pure,
Said “Carry on, Santa, It’s Christmas Day, all secure.”
One look at my atch and I knew he was right,
Merry Christmas my friend, Semper Fi and goodnight.
Note:
Written by James M. Schmidt in 1986 when he was a Lance Corporal stationed at Marine Barracks, Washington, D.C. In December 2002, Mr. Schmidt stated that in 1986 he wrote this poem to hang on the door of the gym in the enlisted quarters. When his commanding officer saw the poem, he immediately had copies sent throughout the Barracks, and promptly dismissed the entire Battalion early for Christmas leave.