There are no trophies in my room,
My name's not on the roll.
My laurel tree's not in the bloom,
My fruit will rot and fall.

I will not make my parents proud
Or set the records high.
They won't announce my name out loud
Or quote the words I write.

My picture won't make the front page,
I won't be on the news.
I won't compute the planet's age
Or do something of use.

No one imagined I could drop
The way I was to go.
I know I could have reached the top,
I chose to stay below.

The ones who used to follow me
Are now way far ahead.
The star I was believed to be
Has long been gone and dead.