christmas poetry

i've won the race
i cannot always feel his greatness
uplifting, as the wind blew
my soul goes clad in gorgeous things
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
i know what you're going to say
melancholy days have come
let us plant
the darkness rolls upward
sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea
do not turn your head
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
in the sphere
the fragrance came