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.