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Poem	My brother Jim's a millionaire, while I have scarce a penny; His face is creased with lines of care, While my mug hasn't any. With inwardness his eyes are dim, While mine laugh out in glee, And though I ought to envy him, I think he envies me. He has a chateau, I a shack, And humble I should be To see his stately Cadillac Beside my jalopy. With chain of gold his belly's girt, His beard is barber trim; Yet bristle-chinned with ragged shirt, I do not envy Jim. My brother is a man of weight; For every civic plum He grabs within one pie of state, While I am just a bum. Last Winter he was near to croak With gastric ulcers grim. . . . And no! although I'm stony broke I will not envy Jim He gets the work, I get the fun; He has no tie for play; Whereas with paddle, rod and gun My life's a holiday. As over crabbed script he pores I can the sky's blue rim. . . . Oh boy! While I have God's outdoors I'll never envy Jim.
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