A surprising number of persons showed up at the Horton Veterans Cemetery Saturday morning to respectfully create a sea of green wreaths and red bows. Nearly three thousand purchased with donated money to and by understanding citizens. It was a beautiful scene; a variety of groups assembled for the task, young and old, many in uniform, many others who once wore a uniform. Like most there I had not dressed properly for the cold that crept in, nor had those who addressed the crowd. Dave Parker, a local TV personality told a story about a Combat Engineer on Omaha Beach D-Day. I was bursting to tell him I was there at the same time. Later we did talk about that day and he knew more about it than I did. There were other interesting speakers; one had suffered years of prison and torture. But the usual highlight of a fighter jet fly over hadn’t arrived when I’d had enough weather.I could not count all the carefully parked motorcycles owned by a contingent of Vietnam survivors who travel to these military events just to show their respect and help out. These are just nice guys who have seen hell in person. We saluted each other as survivors of different wars. Others there that day were very young ROTC, Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, Blue Star Mothers, and Civil Air Patrol Cadets, all of them placing wreaths. A member of the Wreath Organization said their mission is “To remember, honor and teach: remember the fallen: honor those who serve; teach our children the value of freedom”
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With snow falling some recall the cold all too quiet December day in the Ardennes. Others observe the day in Fredericksburg as the main assault. Standing along the sunken road with the stonewall in front and Marye's Heights behind humbles a man at the thought of the brave men charging up the hill against a hailstorm of shot, shell and cannister. Were they just following orders to face an almost certain fate or was there something much greater in their convictions that we today cannot recognize or no longer appreciate.
Well Christmas is just around the corner.This is the third year in a row that I have offered this to all.Please enjoy:
A Soldier's Christmas Poem
The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
my daughter beside me, angelic in rest.
Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree, I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.
My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep
in perfect contentment, or so it would seem.
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.
The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,
But I opened my eye when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know,
Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.
My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
and I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.
A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.
"What are you doing?" I asked without fear
"Come in this moment, it's freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!"
For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts,
to the window that danced with a warm fire's light
then he sighed and he said "Its really all right,
I'm out here by choice. I'm here every night"
"Its my duty to stand at the front of the line,
that separates you from the darkest of times.
No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.
My Gramps died at 'Pearl on a day in December,"
then he sighed, "That's a Christmas 'Gram always remembers."
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of 'Nam
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.
I've not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her smile.
Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red white and blue... an American flag.
"I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home,
I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat,
I can carry the weight of killing another
or lay down my life with my sisters and brothers
who stand at the front against any and all,
to insure for all time that this flag will not fall."
"So go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright
Your family is waiting and I'll be all right."
"But isn't there something I can do, at the least,
"Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you've done,
For being away from your wife and your son."
Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
"Just tell us you love us, and never forget
To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone.
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.
For when we come home, either standing or dead,
to know you remember we fought and we bled
is payment enough, and with that we will trust.
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us.
By Michael Marks, Christmas 2000
I think Mr Pocklington should donate one of his paintings eith to the Historical Society or to the new Visitors" Center. An appropriate would definitely be placed to mark his contribution and service to our community.
Incidentally, he doesn't know me or anything about this idea.
To our troops have, may they be blessed and Merry Christmas to the men, women, and families of those who serve our Republic. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. May God be with each and everyone of you and put His arms around you and keep you safe.Not Steve and Adam
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