Trees in Winter

By Susan H. Miller

I saw them die last fall.

I cried as death

Crept down their limbs.

They stand, black-limbed,

Etched against a blood-red winter sun,

Reaching,

Beseeching heaven for

New life …

Forces I do not know

Nor cannot see work within

Renascent limbs

Where green buds burst from barren boughs.