A platoon of soldiers on the Christmas eve,
marched through the woods with snow covered feet.
onto a routine, rigorously followed,
protecting the land known to be hallowed.
All through the night, day or noon,
sentinels guarding, a glorious boon.
Watchful for any trouble that may rise,
defending, quickly sending it to its demise
They marched along, step by step,
matching in rhythm – ‘left, right, left’.
Heavy boots crunching the crispy snow,
through a narrow pass, on the country’s brow.
A sound suddenly disturbed the quiet,
A shot! Came and pierced a soldier’s arm.
Another grabbed him, rest on the ground,
to figure out the path of the bullet, from the sound.
The ground quaked as a grenade blew
somewhere near as snow and shrapnel flew.
The commander gestured to wrap the injured’s arm,
and be still, as flying snow made them into a mound.
A few more shots, followed by an anticipating silence,
the company awaiting to know enemy’s points of presence.
The wait, it lasted for almost 4 hours,
when a couple of feet approached from a bower.
It only appeared to be a small group,
There are possibly more, the way that it looked.
The company crawled forming a wide arc,
took down the foe with their silenced arms.
An enemy troop was about to fire,
a rocket launcher, at his desire.
Taking a shot he flipped about and fell,
triggering the launcher, in pell-mell.
The rocket zoomed towards a thickened mass of bush,
an explosion erupted, burning it’s each cranny & nook.
A few more bodies were found there anew,
with arsenal for such battalions more than a few.
Along was the intel much more important,
of enemies hiding within the nation and silent.
Each soldier felt grateful and blessed,
as it was a miracle they were alive and at their best.
With lifted spirits they left the site,
after burying the bodies with equal rites.
They continued their patrol, they were in no hurry,
like normal people to sing, dance, sleep and make merry.