The Sands Of Christmas

[JIM PATTEN]

THE SANDS OF CHRISTMAS
By Michael Marks

I had no Christmas spirit when
I breathed a weary sigh,
and looked across the table
where the bills were piled to high.
The laundry wasn't finished
and the car I had to fix.
My stocks were down another point,
the Chargers lost by six.

And so with only minutes till
my son got home from school,
I gave up on the drudgery
and grabbed a wooden stool.
The burdens that I carried
were about all I could take,
and so I flipped the TV on
to catch a little break.

I came upon a desert scene
in shades of tan and rust.
No snowflakes hung upon the wind,
just clouds of swirling dust.
And where the reindeer should have stood
before a laden sleigh,
eight Humvees ran a column
right behind an M-A1.

A group of boys walked past the tank,
not one was past his teens.
Their eyes were hard as polished flint,
their faces were drawn and lean.
They walked the street in armor
with their rifles shouldered tight,
with their dearest wish for Christmas
just to have a silent night.

Other Marines gathered,
hunkered down against the wind,
To share a scrap of mail and dreams
of going home again.

There wasn't much at all to put
their lonely hearts at ease.
They had no Christmas turkey,
just a pack of MREs.

They didn't have a garland
or a stocking I could see.
They didn't need a ornament--
they lacked a Christmas tree.
They didn't have a present
even though it was the tradition,
the only boxes I could see
were labled "ammunition".

I felt a little tug and found
my son now at my side.
He asked me what it was I feared
and why it was I cried.
I swept him up into my arms
and held him oh so near
and kissed him on the forehead
as I wispered in his ear.

There's nothing wrong my little son
for safe we sleep tonight.
Our heroes stand on foreign land
to give us all the right,
to worry on the things in life
that mean nothing at all,
instead of wondering if we will
be the next to fall.

He looked at me as children do
and said it's always right,
to thank the ones who help us
and perhaps that we should write.
And so we pushed aside the bills
and sat to draft a note.
To thank the many far from home,
and this is what we wrote:

God bless you all and keep you safe
and speed your way back home.
Remember that we love you so
and that you're not alone.
The gift you give, you share with all,
a present every day.
You give the gift of liberty
and that we can't repay.

Copyright 2003 Michael Marks:
"I freely submit this poem for reprint
without reservation-- this is an open
and grateful tribute to the men and
women who serve every day to keep
our nation safe."

[thedrifter]

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