The Age Of Change Poem by Mary Champion

There was a boy who hated change,
he never felt at ease with strange
and so he stuck with what he knew,
which proved a problem as he grew.
Fitting in a toddler's garb
when you are twelve is pretty hard.


His garments stretched, the seams all split,
but still he wouldn't change a bit.
Then, like the Hulk, at last he burst
his clothes apart and, though at first
he shocked the neighbours - being nude,
they learned to see he wasn't rude,
just wary of the need to change
and nervous of all matters strange.


Then he was stuck - could not decide
which course of action satisfied.
Should he change his clothes at last? -
the implications being vast.
But then he saw that, anyway,
he'd changed his state the very day
his clothes had fallen from his frame
and left him mortified with shame.


He grasped that change should be controlled
so he decided to be bold.
Now he's the smartest lad they say
who wears new outfits every day.
He changes hairstyles, tries new foods
through ever-changing teenage moods.