The Spare

Here stands my brother’s monument.
(The elder of us two)
The gleaming stone that bears his face
Is accurate and true.
The kindly eyes and gentle pose
Befit my brother dear.
For though he bore a heavy load,
I never saw a tear.
His valor, wit, and princely charm
Could right most any wrong,
And though his duties filled each day,
He’d find the time for song.
How perfect of a prince was he!
Our Father’s pride and joy!
But tragically the kingdom lost
Its precious, golden boy.
I’ll ne’er forget the ghastly day
He drew his final breath.
The blight was quiet, quick, and cold.
We called it Violet Death.
On that grave day my Father wept,
“I’ve lost my only son!”
And I, the spare, was ushered in
To do what must be done.
I never could replace him.
At least that much I knew.
But for this purpose I was born:
To come in and make do.
I strive to earn my people’s trust.
I study every day
To be the prince my brother was
And love their tears away.
At times I wonder if out there
Beyond the farthest shore
He sees my clumsy efforts, and
I feel I must do more.
But by and by the tides all turn.
The kingdom must be run.
I’ll cease to bore you with the tales
Of foolish younger sons.
So come and let me show you more!
Our seaside palace boasts
Of lovely glowing coral found
Uniquely on our coasts!