Young Mr Charles was happy and gay,
"I'm bored of this life thing", he would never say;
Often a paint brush and seldom a dress he bought
"My paintings rival those by Picasso'', he thought.
Yes he did paint well but not too good either
Still he managed to paint better than an evil sorcerer.
Once his aunt paid a visit to his home,
He had always considered her to be evil
For she lived in a spooky house atop a very high hill.
He desired his beautiful paintings to remain hidden from her vicious vile eyes
But what he didn't know was that she was the greatest detective in disguise;
Thus she soon found out where his paintings were,
And started shooting them with fine words, as though they were little grey hare.
Mr Charles got angry, he wanted praise but not of this kind
For her fine words sounded more like insults from behind.
He soon lost all interest in panting and became dull and gloomy
And this is what happens when people you hate praise you, as you can see.
If you believe me not, then test it out for yourself
Though I take no risks and so don't come to tell me that your mind has turned into that of a little glumly elf.