(by George Alexander Louis)
Oh, boy—a girl! A little sister. Swell.
For me, this happening does not bode well.
I am the prince, first-born, the apple of
My parents’ eyes, the first fruit of their love.
But now? Am I supposed to learn to say,
“Well, darling Charlotte, would you like to play?”
She eats, she sleeps, she cries. (Her other names
I cannot get.) She is too young for games.
Need I remind the world I am the heir?
Charlotte et cetera is just a spare.