Two short lines carry a surprising amount here. The title, "Winter Trees," tells us what we're really looking at: bare branches with the leaves gone. The poem then describes them as a hobo, a wanderer, who is missing a finger. Read that way, one branch or twig has broken off or never grown, and the tree starts to look like a worn, weathered person.
The speaker doesn't say how they feel, and that restraint is part of the effect. The tone is quiet and matter-of-fact, as if noticing a small odd detail on a walk. Still, the choice to see a hobo suggests sympathy, or at least attention to things that are rough, damaged, and easily overlooked.
The mood is stark and a little lonely, like winter itself. Nothing is decorated or softened. The comparison also works in both directions: the trees seem human, and the hobo seems as bare and exposed as a tree in the cold.