My brother, William, thinks his crap don't stink.
"Oh, look at me with my big fancy ruff."
He says that I don't have the brains for think-
ing up the words for poetry and stuff.
He also says my acting skills are droll
and claims my memory is rather lame.
I know I could have played the leading role
that came with 'Romeo and what's-her-name.'
But I will blame our parents for my plights,
for 'William' flows like wine when spoke aloud.
But 'Gilbert's' not a name they want in lights.
So thank you Mom, I really hope you're proud.
Yes, fancy pants can write his metered rhyme,
while I, the one with talent fades in time.
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