Information courtsey: Jim Rapp
Jim is a life member of Post PA-52 in Meadville, PA
Fly your flag today! Special tribute to our veterans!
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Merry Christmas My Friend
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 just to see in this home who did live.
As I looked all about, a strange sight I did see;
no tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
No stockings by the fire, just boots filled with sand;
On the wall hung pictures of a far distance land.
With medals and badges, awards of all kinds;
a sobering thought came to my mind.
For this house was different, unlike any I've seen;
This was the home of a U. S. Marine.
I've heard stories of them, I had to see more;
I walked down the hall and push open the door.
There he lay sleeping, silent, alone;
Curled up on the floor in his one bedroom home.
He seemed so gentle, his face so serene;
Not how I pictured a U. S. Marine.
Was this the hero, of whom I had read?
Curled up on his poncho, a floor for his bed.
His head clean shaven, his weathered face tan;
I soon understood, this was more than a man.
I realized the families that I saw that night;
Owed their lives to these men, who were willing to fight.
In homes around the nation the children would play;
and grown-ups would celebrate on a bright Christmas day.
They all enjoyed freedom, all month, all year;
Because of U. S. Marines like this one lying here.
I couldn't help wonder how many lie alone;
on a cold Christmas Eve, in a land far from home.
Just the very thought brought a tear to my eye;
I dropped to my knees and started to cry.
He must have awoke, for I heard a rough voice;
"Santa don't cry, this life is my choice."
"I fight for freedom, and I don't ask for more;
My life is my God, My Country, my Corps."
As I looked at this guardian of honor so willing to fight;
He looked back and said:
MERRY CHRISTMAS my friend,
Semper Fi and goodnight.
- Anonymous -
I
think
that we
shall always
see, God's
gifts upon our
Christmas tree.
You cannot touch
them with your hand,
yet they are there at
your command. There's
gratitude for each new day;
a time to think, a time to pray.
The Christ has come with holy light
to shine and make your pathway bright.
All these are yours if you can see, God's
gifts
upon
your
Christmas Tree.
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They say, "There's no one buried here," but little do they
know.
Look into my brother's eyes a distance gaze will show.
He came down here to see "THE WALL", a tribute to our dead.
All the while hearing wispers, playing games within his head.
"It's nice to see you brother." "It's been a long, long
time."
He hears these voices from the past as he read the names line by line.
"We're still not home!" cries out the names, preceded by a cross;
"Please bring us back," they cry and cry with voices long grown hoarse.
"Hey Airborne, how's it going?" yells a name on 15E.
"Glad to see you made it back to the Land of Liberty."
Another name, another voice comes ringing crisp and true,
"Hey brother! You look familiar." "Did I see you in Pleiku?"
But, unlike all the other voices coming from "The Wall",
This one sounds familiar, a voice he can recall.
He stares ahead and see HIMSELF, his medals on his chest;
|And for a fleeting moment, he's dead with all the rest.
They say, "There's no one buried here," but little do they know.
I saw a GOLD STAR MOTHER, not very long ago.
She comes here pretty often, I see her now and then.
She comes down here to see her son. We called him, "Gentle Ben."
Sometime she brings him flowers. Sometimes she leaves a note.
She said he was so very young, just old enough to vote.
She tell him how things are back home and brings him up to date.
She says, "All's been going well. Dad even fixed the gate."
"He proud of you, our only son." "You carried on his name."
"But, since they told him that you're dead, he's never been the same."
"When I get home he'll sit me down and ask me where I've been."
"He'll sit by me and hold me close and ask if you're still thin."
"He'll ask me many questions, the hardest one of all,"
"What he ever did to you, you never, ever call."
They say, "There's no one buried here," but little do they know.
Last night I met a widow, her son and daughter in tow.
She had "THE STARE." I know that stare, I've seen that stare before.
She was very quiet, just stood their at the door.
Her son said, "Can you help me sir?" "My dad was killed in Nam."
"It happened nineteen years ago, now no one gives a damn."
"They said it was a accident, a test flight and you see,"
"It happened in Cambodia, is all that's known to me."
I asked, "How old are you?" "Nineteen?" He's merely just a lad.
Like many others of his age, he never knew his dad.
His dad was in the"101". I know some of those guys.
"I'll find out what I can," I said. "There won't be any lies."
A test flight in Cambodia? That doesn't ring quite true,
But stranger things have happened in a war where me and you,
Did whatever we had to, for the "ole red, white and blue".
All the while, the "reaper" stuck to us like glue.
They say, "There's no one buried here," but little do they know.
We brothers that hear voices from very long ago,
Will tell you just how wrong they are, it may not be a tomb.
But THE WALL is full of spirits and a love that's yet to bloom.
They say, "There's no one buried here," but little do they know.
If not, then why do mothers place flowers and flags in a row?
Beneath the very panel who's lines contain the name,
Of her son who gave his all in a war that left us lame?
They say, "There's no one buried here," but little do they know.
Just ask the sons and daughters who'll stand there in the snow,
Looking at THE WALL for a face they hope will show.
Of their fathers who they lost in a war so long ago.
They say, "There's no one buried here," but little do they know.
The gaze in the eyes of we brothers will never, ever go
Away because a piece of us is buried between each row.
They say, "There's no one buried here," but little do they know.
Tom Wieber
at THE WALL
New Years Eve
1989
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The Christmas Story
Miracles are marvels
that defy all explanation.
And Christmas is a miracle
and not just a celebration.
For when the true signifigance
of this so-called Christmas story,
penetrates the minds of men
and transformes them in its glory;
Then only can rebellious man
so hate-torn with dissention,
behold his adversaries
with a broader new dimension.
For we can only live in Peace
when we learn to love each other
and accept all human beings
with the compassion of a brother.
And it takes the Christ of Christmas
to change your point of view.
For only through the Christ child
can we be born anew.
And that is why God sent His Son
as a Christmas gift of love...
So that wickedness and hatred
which the world has so much of;
could find another outlet
by following in Christ's way
and discovering a new power
that violence can't outweigh.
And in the Christmas story
of the holy Christ child's birth,
Is the answer to a better world
and good will and Peace on Earth.
---Helen Steiner Rice---
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