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  237.     

Kargil Warfare

Words shall never describe
what a soldier is
with a family brave
loosing in wars
all they have
yet smiling to the nation's pride

such is what a soldier is
for when they came with guns and arms
the soldier faced it all
heads held high
for the nation
he was ready to die

such is the sacrifice a soldier makes
and yes!
words shall never describe
what a soldier is

Kargil was the place
this time the fight was for mother land
the soldier could not be held
he marched
without fear
smoke rose high
there on the dusty land
fought the soldier
with no fear of death

he knew beneath
he had to win
and yes he did
his land he saved
but lost many his friends

and we salute
bow our head
for our words shall never describe
what a soldier is.
 
Areena Arora

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  238.     

Dear, Soldier Boy

Dear, Soldier Boy,
How I miss you so.
I think about you everyday,
And when you're coming home.

Dear, Soldier Boy,
I hope you write back soon.
Tomorrow's Sarah's birthday.
Her party starts at noon.

Dear, Soldier Boy,
I love you more each day.
My love for you grows stronger,
The longer you're away.

Dear, Soldier Boy,
I haven't heard from you at all.
Maybe I will get a letter,
By the time of Fall.

Dear, Soldier Boy,
June 15,2008.
They told me you were wounded,
And they got you help too late.

Dear, Soldier Boy,
How I miss you so.
I think about you everyday,
And why you didn't come back home
 
Jessica Beal

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  239.     

A Soldier's Christmas

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 to see just who in this home did live.
I looked all about, a strange sight I did see,
no tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.

No stocking by mantle, just boots filled with sand,
and on the wall pictures of far distant land.
With medals and badges, awards of all kinds,
a sobering thought came to my mind.
For this house was different, so dark and so dreary,
the home of a soldier, now I could see clearly.

The soldier lay sleeping, silent, alone,
curled up on the floor in this one bedroom home.
The face was so gentle, the room in such disorder,
not how I pictured a United States soldier.
Was this the hero of whom I'd just read?
Curled up on a poncho, the floor for a bed?

I realized the families that I saw this night,
owed their lives to these soldiers who were willing to fight.
Soon round the world, the children would play,
and grownups would celebrate a bright Christmas day.
They all enjoyed freedom each month of the year,
because of the soldiers, like the one lying here.

I couldn't help wonder how many lay alone,
on a cold Christmas eve in a land far from home.
The very thought brought a tear to my eye,
I dropped to my knees and started to cry.
The soldier awakened and I heard a rough voice,
'Santa don't cry, this life is my choice;

I fight for freedom, I don't ask for more,
my life is my God, my country, my corps.'
the soldier rolled over and soon drifted to sleep,
I couldn't control it, I continued to weep.
I kept watch for hours, so silent and still,
and we both shivered from the cold evening's chill.

I didn't want to leave on that cold, dark, night,
this guardian of honor so willing to fight.
Then the soldier rolled over, with a voice soft and pure,
whispered, 'Carry on Santa, it's Christmas day, all is secure.'
One look at my watch, and I knew he was right.
'Merry Christmas my friend, and to all a good night.'
 
Wade Blade

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  240.     

Soldier, Soldier

Soldier, soldier, off to the war,
Take me a letter to my sweetheart O.
He's gone away to France
With his carbine and his lance,
And a lock of brown hair of his sweetheart O.

Fair maid of London, happy may you be
To know so much of your sweetheart O.
There's not a handsome lad,
To get the chance he's had,
But would skip, with a kiss for his sweetheart O.

Soldier, soldier, whatever shall I do
If the cruel Germans take my sweetheart O?
They'll pen him in the sail
And starve him thin and pale,
With never a kind word from his sweetheart O.

Fair maid of London, is that all you see
Of the lad you've taken for your sweetheart O?
He'll make his prison ring
With his God Save the King
And his God bless the blue eyes of my sweetheart O!

Soldier, soldier, if by shot or shell
They wound him, my dear lad, my sweetheart O,
He'll lie bleeding in the rain
And call me, all in vain,
Crying for the fingers of his sweetheart O.

Pretty one, pretty one, now take a word from me:
Don't you grudge the life-blood of your sweetheart O.
For you must understand
He gives it to our land,
And proud should fly the colors of his sweetheart O.

Soldier, soldier, my heart is growing cold --
If a German shot kill my sweetheart O!
I could not lift my head
If my dear love lay dead
With his wide eyes waiting for his sweetheart O.

Poor child, poor child, go to church and pray,
Pray God to spare you your sweetheart O.
But if he live or die
The English flag must fly,
And England take care of his sweetheart O!
 
Maurice Hewlett

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