christmas poetry

sun stepped down from his golden throne
some of the hurts you have cured
gone are the three, those sisters rare
out of me unworthy and unknown
winged shadows sweeping by
world that changes under my hand
in the cloud-gray mornings
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
see the tentative
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
over the river they beckon to me
out of the sparkling sea
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
friend, whose smile has come to be