Winter Dawn, Second Time Around

One more Christmas sonnet, this one from 2010, and it moves me still.

The naked trees define themselves anew
as separate from the slowly lightening sky
and dark clouds fade to gray and then to blue
while one lone brilliant star remains on high.
The sky turns bright, yet deathly cold and chill
but in the winter forest far below
a single branch moves slightly, then is still
as morning's warming blush begins to glow.
Suddenly, through the band of winter trees,
a spark, a glint of gold, a burning fire
reflects its yellow in the oaks' live leaves,
escapes the wood's confines, and rises higher.
     The sun has risen--welcome joyous morn,
     For night is dead, and Christmas Day is born