Flickering Flame,
Dance among the walls,
Surrounded by damp earth.
Worn and weary,
Draped in the depression,
Of another long day.
Nary a sound,
Can be heard here,
Save the subtle rasps of barbed wire,
and weak moans of snowy wind.
Oh, on this holy nght,
The men wrap themselves,
In muddy green blankets,
Staving off the chill of homesickness.
On this night,
No fat turkey spits in their fire,
No evergreen sparkles on the embankment,
Tipped by a golden star.
Only the stars seemed calm,
Looking upon No Man's Land below,
Shining their celestial glow,
Upon a depressing scene.
A single young man,
Looks above and finds his voice,
Soft and clear,
Like the cry of a dove.
Silent Night drifts from his lips,
To the ears and heavens around,
