AN: I found this on my computer, and I wrote it a few years ago, and even if it's bad, i still kind of like it. Don't like? Don't care.
The Gift of Christmas
Bombs are falling! Crashing! Crashing!
Men run across the battlefield! Dashing! Dashing!
Guns are firing! Shooting! Shooting!
Tear gas is flying! Polluting! Polluting!
Suddenly the sun begins to show.
Clouds open and it starts to snow.
Sweaty, and cold, and scared, and sooty.
They come out of the trenches. Slowly. Slowly.
They break out in laughter and begin to play footie.
Germans and English, both are in goalie.
Sharing their gifts, and their warmth, and their smiles.
And admit they haven't laughed in a while.
It's true that their sad, and theirs a war going on.
But their happy, so they'll play footie from dusk until dawn.
No bombs are now falling. No crashing, crashing.
No men run across the battlefield. Not dashing, dashing.
