A Christmas Triute To Our Troops

Christmas Tree Boots

© 2011 Linda McKinney All Rights Reserved

 Filled with dirt,

Frozen through,

It started there,

In WW two.

Tradition: it starts somewhere.

A friend had died,

Though not alone,

And given up

His boots to Jones.

Christmas: it started there.

Jones took the boots

And dug the dirt,

And carried it

Wrapped in his shirt.

Stacking: starting with Jones’.

And from there

It all began,

Tradition passed

From Man to Man.

Trees: from shoes one owns.

In the circle,

Toes pointing out,

Recall the names

That it’s about.

Filling: support to give.

Ten to eight,

Eight to six,

Six to four,

Soon it’s fixed.

Single: from one who lives.

A soldier’s boot

Now stands tall

For Christmas-time

Has come to all.

Tree: dirt-filled soldiers’ boots.

In frozen snow,

Or sandy desert,

It helps to ease

A soldier’s hurt

Normalcy: our own roots.

When next you see

A soldier brave

Remember thank them,

Salute their grave.

Freedom: won day by day.

Even on Christmas

They gave their all,

Served our country,

Answered the call.

Sacrifice: the price they pay.

Imagine now 

The soldiers’ boots,

Stacked up tall,

First owners mute.

Blood: red and green contrast.