CHRISTMAS PRESENT 1944.

                            Above the town of Trois-Ponts we sat

                            On the first sunny day in a week.

                            It was Christmas day in the Ardennes

                            Up to now, things had been pretty bleak.

                            I rose slowly from my ice-rimmed bed.

                            And I returned my boots to my feet.

                            Men were stirring this side of the hedge

                            On the other, tombstones were replete.

                            The hedge had been our shield of defense.

                            I had dug my slit trench at its base.

                            The enemy crept beyond the town.

                            And the Captain showed his smiling face.

                            "Good morning," he said. "Have a cigar."

                            "No," I said: "It's too early for me."

                            I thought of saying: Merry Christmas.

                            "A beautiful day, Barger," said he.

                            I went over to the nearby spring,

                            But first I had to break off the ice.

                            I thought I would make some hot coffe.

                            I was sure that would be pretty nice.

                            We sat around, smoked, drank and we ate.

                            It was good to feel the wintry sun.

                            It seemed things were unusually quiet.

                            Life at the front is never much fun.

                            Then out of the sky came our own planes.

                            The P47's flew in so swift,

                            Four strafed the enemy way below.

                            Each giving a five hundred pound gift.

                            The last plane mistook some of our men

                            For en'my on our side of the hill.

                            He dropped his bombs directly on them,

                            What was left was practically nil.

                            But these men were one of our own squads

                            They were fixing their Christmas Day meal.

                            Eight of them were killed in a flash!

                            An event we will never conceal.

                            These were our good buddies in their prime

                            And every Christmas since that day

                            I cannot but remember that time

                            And I think of the pride they did pay.

                            Kenneth R. CRAIG

                            Edwin G. DAVIS

                            Thomas H. EVANS

                            John L. GRANT

                            Leland C. HELLER

                            Donald H. OLDS

                            Harold V. SCHRAMM

                            Bernard J. SCHROEDER