On a Christmas Eve long ago

'Twas the night before Christmas and we were afloat
Somewhere in Cambodia, in our little boat.
While the river was lightened by rockets red glare
No one but the President knew we were there.

The crew was all nestled deep down in their bunks,
While the Spook and I watched the sampans and junks.
Our mission was secret, so secret in fact,
No one else would remember it when we got back....

From a longer post at Silent Running. Click here to read the whole thing.

Update: Oops. Thanks to Dean Esmay for pointing out that what I found on Silent Running was as excerpt from a Horsefeathers post. The poem is longer than I realized. I especially like how it ends:

Don’t bother to quibble with history my friend,
By pointing out Johnson was President then.
Don’t listen to Swiftees who try to explain,
For I tell you that night is seared into my brain.

Down Hibbard, down Lonsdale, and you too O’Neill,
So you don’t remember? Well it’s something I feel.
I don’t need all you Swiftvets to support my campaign,
Cause Christmas in Cambodia is seared into my brain,

Into my brain, into my brain, into my brain...