Mr. Speaker, the following is an excerpt of a poem written by one of our peacekeepers:
T'was 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 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 the 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.
I realized the families, That I saw this night, Owed their lives to these soldiers, Who were willing to fight.
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.
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”.