Some leaves in winter dangle on

Though wrinkled, fragile, old

Stubborn leaves that flinch on empty trees

Through cruel storms in damning cold

While normal leaves

Fall onto dirt

Rotting nicely into mold

Abandoned leaves must cling

Precarious

Ignored

Ragtag on their fragile strands

They writhe

To hang at risk like fears of faith

With only wisdom’s bough to hold