From a fellow Jeeper:

This simple poem should bring a tear to your eye. It’s pure Hoo Ahh, all the way. Afraid I don’t know the author. Remember those who are serving and give thanks we have those like them ~ Mac





The Sands of Christmas




I had no Christmas spirit
when I breathed a weary sigh,
and looked across the table
where the bills were piled too high.

The laundry wasn't finished
and the car I had to fix,
my stocks were down another point,
the Dolphins 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 sand & dust.

And where the reindeer should have
stood before a laden sleigh,
eight hummers ran a column
right behind an M1A.

A group of boys walked past the tank,
not one was past his teens,

their eyes were hard as polished flint,

their faces drawn and lean.

They walked the street in armor
with their rifles shouldered tight,
their dearest wish for Christmas,
just to have a silent night.

Other soldiers 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 MRE's.

They didn't have a garland
or a stocking I could see,
they didn't need an ornament –

they lacked a Christmas Tree.

They didn't have a present
even though it was tradition,
the only boxes I could see
were labeled "ammunition".

I felt a little tug and found
my son now by 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 whispered 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 about the things in life
that really mean nothing at all,
instead of wondering each day
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.

Very touching - thank you