Change, a poem

 Change

All things change.

Not for the better, mind you,
not for the worse. Just different
from the way they were.

I, too, change.

This way, that way, slowly,
imperceptible 
even to myself

sometimes, changing

none the less. Each morning
must be made anew;
each man must wake changed,

as all things.

Stephen Brooke ©2026