The Mutability Sonnet Poem by Glen Martin Fitch

Though no one really changes,
many try
or say they will.
Some mellow
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,
just morose.
As kernels linger
for the sun and rain
An avalanche
awaits one falling flake,
Believe me
change can come,
transform, remain.
With kindness,
love,
a new man you can make.
I'm stuck.
Ignore my gut,
believe that hunch,
grab hold my ankles,
curse me as I crunch.