Denny Cox

I traded Santa the P-38 for his assurances that Sen. Feinstein and her kind would receive nothing other than reindeer crap in their stockings for Christmas this year. Although, I doubt she and other anti-gun despots celebrate Christmas anyway (not politically correct, you know).


Remember, when they oulaw guns, only outlaw reindeer will have guns!


Here's a Christmas poem you may or not have seen before. Take care, Denny


"Santa meets a solider"


'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.

On the wall hung pictures

of far distant lands.


With medals and badges,

awards of all kinds,

a sobering thought

came through my mind.


For this house was different,

it was dark and dreary.

I found the home of a Soldier,

once I could see clearly.


The Soldier lay sleeping,

silent and alone.

Curled up on the floor

of 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 visited 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 our freedom,

I don't ask for more,

My life is my God,

my Country, my Corps."


The Soldier rolled over

and 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 night'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 - all is secure."


One look at my watch,

And I knew he was right.

"Merry Christmas my friend,

And to all a good night.


Author unknown