"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 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 Marine, once I could see clearly.

The Marine 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 Marine.

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
Marines 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 Marines,
like the one lying here.

I couldn't help but 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 Marine 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 Marine 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 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 Marine 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!"