christmas poems

thou unrelenting past
were it not for that singular smell
out of the deep and the dark
in your arms was still delight
god
a bird sang
when the hours of day are numbered
by the shore, by the sea
up to her chamber window
in an old chamber softly lit
that strange companion came on shuffling feet
there were three in the meadow by the brook
when night drifts along the streets of the city
softly weeping