A Soldiers' Angels Christmas

The day was young, and the sound of music was light,
We gazed round the room and cherished the sight.
The items were heaped, over flowing from a chest,
Food, snacks, toys, books, silly thing and, all the rest.
We divided and stacked, the socks a pile of white,
Christmas cards, and multicolored stocking filled with delight.

This weeks shopping was better then we could believe,
There would be enough for all our soldiers on Christmas Eve.
Our eyes were bright, as we packed the boxes deep,
The liquids were baggied so they wouldn’t seep.
The heavy items placed in cardboard corners, near the seam,
And little tiny candies and mixes, fit in tight spaces like a dream.

As we packed we laughed, and wished our soldiers were near,
But instead told stories of emails and letters in each others ears.
There were special things, to each other we wanted to show,
Things with meanings, we knew our soldiers would know.
We each told stories, so fun to hear,
And in our hearts, holding our solders dear.

Once the boxes were filled, and taped down tight,
We broke out the markers, and decorated them bright.
There were angels, and flags in colors so bold,
And then we added trees and snowmen so cold.
Once we were done, with gladness we smiled,
Standing over our boxes, we whooped it up wild.

"I think mine looks best?" I said without fear,
"Look at the halo, and the wings right here!
There’s a nice red heart, and trim on the sleeve,
She’ll bring a smile come Christmas Eve!"
For barely a moment I saw their eyes shift,
Away from me, to their boxes their sites did drift. .

Their opinions differed, and their voices weren’t light
They sighed and then said "You’re looking for a fight,
Ours are great, too. We think we all did alright.
You can just simmer down, and put your box back in line,
There’s still more, it’s Customs Form time.”

" I hate Customs Forms and they hate me,
All that writing and writing until I can’t see.
My hands turned to pains, and cramps,"
I sighed, "Let’s get start, go get the lamps.
Why must there be 5 pages, man oh man,
We press down with the pens, as hard as we can.

In the north is Mosul, and a little east is Kirkuk,
Baghdad is central, and for the west at the map we must look.
There is Jason at HHC, then there’s Nicole at CID,
And Elizabeth and Dat in Company C.
"I hope they have decorated, and aren’t feeling alone,
I wish they were with family, in a house and at home.

Those retched forms are done, and we rise to our feet,
It was time for the post office, through the rain and the sleet.
We can carry the weight, we’re each a mother,
Stacking the boxes in the car, next to one another.
We have the Customs Form for one and all,
Ready for that cute postal clerk, John Paul.

"Wal-Mart has socks on sale," Mom said, "and a little flashlight,
We can stop on the way back, just take a right."
"After that we can stop at Target, their price for deodorant is best,
And toothpaste," I said, "and then it’s the Dollar Store for the rest.
We’ll still need to add some things, like Hunny Buns,
Wouldn’t it be a great idea to add some magnets, maybe of a sun.”

As we drive off down the road, we plan our next box,
"Do you think it’s possible, perhaps to pack some lox?”.
Angels live for letters and cards, received and sent,
For a good themed box, and hoping they don’t get bent..
Angels love and care, always knowing it’s important that things are said,
We remember that our soldiers fought and bled.
We carry soldiers in our hearts, and in our pockets a Solidiers’ Angels coin,
and we hope you will visit www.soldiersangels.org to join."