SECOND SON, MIDDLE CHILD, NEXT COMES A GIRL

Second son, middle child, next comes a girl
The eldest a prince, the youngest princess
To have a life, I must survive their swirl
A system designed to kill my success
Each one a year apart, no room to breathe
With more time I might a psyche have sown
Less trampled, too, my brother, his sword sheath
Rather than fight for a life of his own
Double whammy comes with the shift of blame
As the family tries to relieve its pain
Whom best to target for their scapegoat game
But the least-valuable link in the chain
    Might it hold true that such a birth order
    Years later could leave one with stick shorter?
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© 2004 by Michael J. Farrand