In halls of learning, bright and wide, My sister walked with graceful stride. Her name, a whisper, then a shout, Of triumphs known, beyond a doubt. A mind so keen, a smile so kind, The finest student, you would find. And I, who followed, year by year, Would hear her praises, ever near. "Oh, you're her sister, aren't you, dear?" A kind inquiry, laced with fear. Fear that my own small, budding grace, Would fail to fill her brilliant space. My teachers' eyes, a gentle plea, For hints of her they'd find in me. "So like her, I hope," they'd softly say, As if my path should curve her way. My essays read, my answers heard, Compared against her every word. A quiet ache, a subtle sting, When only echoes she would bring. I longed to shine, a single star, Not just a light from where her glories are. To be myself, distinct and true, Not merely 'Sister of,' through and through. She never meant to cast a shade, No rivalry was ever made Between us two; she'd wish me well. It was the world, the constant spell Of expectation, hard to break, For my own dear, individual sake. So in the classrooms, through the years, I learned to navigate my fears. To write my name, to take my stand, With my own talent, in my own hand. A sister's love, a bond so deep, But separate dreams, my soul would keep.