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T‘was the night before Christmas, when all through the wood
Not a soldier was moving, and none of them should.
Huddled in foxholes, around a small fire,
Spirits were high though conditions were dire.
With the officer’s tucked up all snug in their beds,
The Sergeants made sure the men kept their heads.
Rifles were ready in case of attack,
Two men a foxhole, to cover one’s back.