CHRISTMAS IN A FOXHOLE
On this holiest night of the year,
Soldiers of God in battlefields far and away,
Draw near.
"Boys next door" in combat role,
Spending Christmas in a Foxhole
Abiding war's downright dangerous rigmarole
Bearing honor ensconced in patriotic refrains,
Echoing faintly still glorious strains
Forever ingrained on young hearts reigns.
Look ye to the wise man's star
Shining above Vietnam afar.
Then back to a not so festive jungle site.
All is calm on this most Holy Night,
This brisk winter night.
At least till the next firefight.
For Vietcong elves, merry and wild,
Neither tender nor mild,
Will not let him sleep in heavenly peace.
Too much to ask that for one night
A soldier might be granted release,
The killing might cease.
He thought of Santa and his sleigh,
Laughed at thought of his calling today.
The only man Nam's likely to see lively and quick
Sure ain't Saint Nick.
More likely Old Nick,
One of them Vietcong dipsticks
Who in the worst way want to give
This "boy next door" licks,
To deck his halls,
Kick his b____, uh, er, hind end,
With death all around, holiday spirit kinda palls.
Dreams of mistletoe set his heart all aglow,
Frowning at the waste of it knowing,
Nobody's in the foxhole but GI Joe.
So no tidings of comfort and joy today,
No sweet young things to make hearts go astray.
Yeah, I know, no reindeer tonight!
There's no kind of merry delight,
Standing guard late into weary night
On Christmas eve, on Christmas eve,
Still trying hard, still to believe,
In the Christ Child's birth
In fading hopes of peace on earth,
Good will to men reprieve
Just pray for one special night fears might leave,
He dreams of chestnuts roasting on an open fire,
Of yuletide carols sung by a choir.
Wafting on sweet and sour air in the distance roll,
A singing, ringing bell's joyous toll.
Or is it the sound of guns,
Drum, drum, drumming,
Stalking ever nearer, step by step coming,
Into his perimeter mortar's walking,
Attendant death's afrighted fears
He hears.
As he stands guard, weary tears wet his eyes,
Wondering if tonight will be the holy night
He dies!
Sweating,
Grieving,
For a world in sin and error pining
For hearth and home in quiet times yearning
Silently, secretly, praying
He'll live to see coming morn.
In Vietnam so all alone, So forlorn,
Dreaming of home, mother and apple pie,
Cursing the light of a killing moon in the sky.
Searching his body for blood lusting leeches
He humbly beseeches.
Oh God, I pray tonight
Will be a silent night.
Stifle Ye waves of war's withering blight,
Temper it with Thine Holy Light.
Hallelujah,
To the dawn of Thy redeeming grace
Hallelujah.hallelujah!
Oh God help me, help me,
In this hour Thine sacred faith to embrace.
Oh Thou King Of Kings Help me,
I'm too young this night to see thy Holy Face.
Beside the foxhole he lays his weary head,
Listening as `outgoing' night rounds pass
Just overhead,
Sent on appointed rounds, desolation to spread
Their particular kind of joy,
To Vietcong who in darkening jungles deploy
On this sacred Christmas Eve
This war the holiday's to thieve.
He listens tight for `incoming' artillery,
Sweltering mid war's debauchery,
Senseless butchery,
Man's inhumanity to man,
Raging rampant throughout this land.
He thinks of the dire
Animosity this ancient nation enflamed
In his soul hating's ire.
Why did he have to be the one called
To put out the fire.
He aches in his gut from black water that stank,
Athirsting on his last patrol he drank
Green, moving and rank,
His Christmas gift's a case of dysentery,
Sick and tired of Nam's humbug flimflammery
War's political festoonery
He dreams silent dreams
Of his own round yon virgin waiting at home
His mother and child back in "the world,"
All alone.
Waiting for him,
Just him.
His jungled hall's definitely not decked
With boughs of holly,
Be quite a while before he feels really jolly.
Still dreaming dreams of joy to come
When a big silver bird carries him home.
To make that last air assault on LZ Travis.
He'll sing Joy to "the world" as no more he has
To battle Mr. Charles face-to-face, vis-à-vis.
On this Christmas eve the boy's dreaming
Of farewell bidding
To Nam's hell inspired mix,
An unholy combat matrix,
Dreaming of Nam for the last time vanishing
Out his rear door six.
A God awful sound rustles in the jungle
Setting hair on his spine all a-tingle.
Sound sure ain't made by jingle bells.
It's likely another kind of bell that knells
Like one of a thousand little hells,
Out there a quieted noise of a rifle bolt when it clicks,
A sound that truly makes sinking hearts sick.
On this Christmas night, Holy night,
He can't bear for his life to fight,
No, no, not tonight
Spirits of Christmas combat his soul bedight,
Let there be peace on earth tonight.
At least in Vietnam tonight.
Writing what may be his last words in a poem,
A book of war Tome
Thinking of being ever ready.
His nerves somehow steady.
He must be brave,
If he is his soul on Christmas Eve to save.
Still, still, still
He sees the star of the Holy night,
Under an alien moon killing bright,
To silhouette his body in bright shining
In merriment through fetid jungles streaming,
Exposing an enemy marauding,
A good target backlighting,
Sparkling, illuminating, gleaming.
Hark, hear the herald angel voices,
A battle looming mid Christmas rejoices.
Tracers joining the triumph of the skies,
In shouts of pain angelic hosts proclaim
Exploding crescendos, who's to blame.
They're coming, rampaging, to kill and maim.
Just one more fight in a weary night that bites,
Just one more in a long series of forsaken nights
All hopes of Christmas joy in a foxhole shorn,
Hold bleak hope in a glorious morn,
His soul not feeling its worth
Enmired deeply in civilities blackened dearth,
On this night of the dear Savior's birth
Dreaming of far and away where a weary world rejoices
Without him,
Without him!