Last year, the cover art on an issue of The New Yorker depicted an American soldier in T-shirt, camouflage pants, and combat boots, sitting on a pipe bunk, reading a Christmas card.

On the mud hut wall beside him he's marked off each day he's spent in Iraq or Afghanistan, his tabulation forming a Christmas tree. He's staring at the card with a mixture of longing and bemusement.

It's Christmas and again American service men and women are far from home serving in wars.

My thoughts go out to them and to their families and friends this season. I wish they were here to enjoy the holidays with us.

"Christmas in the Trenches" is by John McCutcheon, a singer-songwriter who recently performed in Southern Pines.

My name is Francis Tolliver, I come from Liverpool.

Two years ago the war was waiting for me after school.

To Belgium and to Flanders, to Germany to here

I fought for King and country I love dear.

'Twas Christmas in the trenches, where the frost so bitter hung,

The frozen fields of France were still, no Christmas song was sung

Our families back in England were toasting us that day

Their brave and glorious lads so far away.

I was lying with my messmate on the cold and rocky ground

When across the lines of battle came a most peculiar sound

Says I, "Now listen up, me boys!'" each soldier strained to hear

As one young German voice sang out so clear.

"He's singing bloody well, you know!'" my partner says to me

Soon, one by one, each German voice joined in harmony

The cannons rested silent, the gas clouds rolled no more

As Christmas brought us respite from the war

As soon as they were finished and a reverent pause was spent

"God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen" struck up some lads from Kent

The next they sang was "Stille Nacht." "Tis 'Silent Night,'" says I

And in two tongues one song filled up that sky

"There's someone coming toward us!'" the front line sentry cried

All sights were fixed on one long figure trudging from their side

His truce flag, like a Christmas star, shown on that plain so bright

As he, bravely, strode unarmed into the night

Soon one by one on either side walked into No Man's Land

With neither gun nor bayonet we met there hand to hand

We shared some secret brandy and we wished each other well

And in a flare-lit soccer game we gave 'em hell

We traded chocolates, cigarettes, and photographs from home

These sons and fathers far away from families of their own

Young Sanders played his squeezebox and they had a violin

This curious and unlikely band of men

Soon daylight stole upon us and France was France once more

With sad farewells we each prepared to settle back to war

But the question haunted every heart that lived that wondrous night

"Whose family have I fixed within my sights?''

'Twas Christmas in the trenches where the frost, so bitter hung

The frozen fields of France were warmed as songs of peace were sung

For the walls they'd kept between us to exact the work of war

Had been crumbled and were gone forevermore

My name is Francis Tolliver, in Liverpool I dwell

Each Christmas come since World War I, I've learned its lessons well

That the ones who call the shots won't be among the dead and lame

And on each end of the rifle we're the same

Stephen E. Smith can be reached at travisses@hotmail.com.