Glen Martin Fitch
THE MUTABILITY SONNET
Though no one really changes,
or say they will.
freed from strife,
a lot betray themselves,
yet feign and lie,
and most adapt to loss
with scars for life.
It seems we all get more set
in our way.
The bold wax bolder
till they're grandiose.
The frugal seem
more miserly each day.
The quiet don't grow chatty,
As kernels linger
for the sun and rain
awaits one falling flake,
change can come,
a new man you can make.
Ignore my gut,
believe that hunch,
grab hold my ankles,
curse me as I crunch.
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(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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