CHRISTMAS POEM - 2017

I received this poem by an email from a friend. I admit that I expected another "Twas the night before Christmas" type poem, but as I read the poem I was pleasantly surprised  by the unexpected and emotional ending. It is especially moving for those of us who have served in the armed forces. There was no indication of the source or the author, but it is very fine writing by a talented author.

 CHRISTMAS POEM:

 

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 Marine, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps a soldier, 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 "It’s 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,
I'm proud to stand here like my father before.
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 for my sister or 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."

STUFF: 

Thanks to my readers from the four corners of the world for the support of my blog and may you all have a very happy holiday season and a prosperous new year!

Herm

 

Old Shoes

Bonjour tout le monde,

Maybe I’m getting lazy in my old age, but I’m going to cope-out with today’s post and use a poem that came to me via e-mail. I like the hidden messages of sincerity and humility that the poem presents.

 I searched the internet for an author’s name, but found none. There are numerous poems on the “Old Shoes” theme and several variations of this poem. Kudos to the unknown author of this poem.

I guess we could all learn from the sentiment contained in this poem.

 I showered and shaved.
I adjusted my tie.
I got there and sat
In a pew just in time.

Bowing my head in prayer
As I closed my eyes.
I saw the shoe of the man next to me
Touching my own and I sighed.

With plenty of room on either side,
I thought, "Why must our soles touch?"
It bothered me. His shoe is touching mine
But it didn't bother him much.

A prayer began: "Our Father"
I thought, "This man with the shoes has no pride.
They're dusty, worn, and scratched.
Even worse, there are holes on the side!"

"Thank You for blessings," the prayer went on.
The shoe man said a quiet "Amen."
I tried to focus on the prayer
But my thoughts were on his shoes again.

Aren't we supposed to look our best
When walking through that door?
"Well, this certainly isn't it,"
I thought while glancing toward the floor.

Then the prayer was ended.
The songs of praise began.
The shoe man was certainly loud
Sounding proud as he sang.

His voice lifted the rafters.
His hands were raised high.
The Lord could surely hear
The shoe man's voice from the sky.

It was time for the offering.
What I threw in was steep.
I watched as the shoe man reached
Into his pockets so deep.

I saw what was pulled out
What the shoe man put in.
Then I heard a soft "clink"
As when silver hits tin.

The sermon really bored me
To tears and that's no lie.
It was the same for the shoe man.
For tears fell from his eyes.

At the end of the service
As is the custom here
We must greet new visitors
And show them all good cheer.

But I felt moved somehow
And wanted to meet the shoe man.
So after the closing prayer
I reached over and shook his hand.

He was old and his skin was dark.
His hair was truly a mess.
But I thanked him for coming
And being our guest.

He said, "My name is Charlie.
I'm glad to meet you, my friend."
There were tears in his eyes
But he had a large, wide grin.

"Let me explain," he said,
Wiping tears from his eyes,
"I've been coming here for months
And you're the first to say 'Hi.'"

"I know that my appearance
Is not like all the rest.
But I really do try
To always look my best."

"I always clean and polish my shoes
Before my very long walk.
But by the time I get here
They're dirty and dusty, like chalk."

My heart filled with pain
And I swallowed to hide my tears
As he continued to apologize
For daring to sit so near.

He said, "When I get here
I know I must look a sight,
But I thought if I could touch you
Then maybe our souls might unite."

I was silent for a moment
Knowing whatever was said
Would pale in comparison.
I spoke from my heart, not my head.

"Oh, you've touched me," I said,
"And taught me, in part
That the best of any man
Is what is found in his heart."

The rest, I thought,
This shoe man will never know.
Like just how thankful I really am
That his dirty old shoe touched my soul.

 Stuff:

To my readers around the world . . . Happy New Year!

That the year, 2017, be a good one and the world becomes a more peaceful place is my wish for all……. Herm