by Brother Grim

Jelly was a lad who was so hard to please,
nothing would he eat, except for plates full of cheese!
His obsession was strange and no one knew why.
He swore cheese was his meal till the day that he died.
His father, a strong man who was hearty and pink,
was at his wits end, and driven to drink.
He would stay at the tavern, and tell of his woe,
on cheap tankards of grog his money he'd blow.
'My son, a good lad, though a little bit chunky,
has turned into a ravenous limburger junky!'
'All my land and my house and the coins in my purse,
I will give to the man who can remove this foul curse!'
The old man's plea went out and was told near and far,
it was whispered by gossips, and made light of in the bar.
But one day into town strolled a strange little fellow,
his robes were all tattered, and his skin a sickly yellow.
'I can cure your boy!' he told the ripe drunken sod,
'I will make him good as new, this lad you call Todd.'
The father cried, 'His names not Todd! It's Jelly, you snot!
But go on and give it a try... Give it your best shot.'
But before he started, the mage asked for first,
for a small taste of grog, to quell a quick thirst.
After slamming four tankards he got back to work,
though his eyes did spin, and his hands did jerk.
With the boy before him, the mage reared back,
while clutching his reagents in a small toad sack.
He sent out flames of red, green and blue
that engulfed the boy, hiding him from all's view.
When the flames died away, as well as the stench,
To the father's red eyes, his boy-Was a wench!
'Oh no!' he cried, and he cursed this new fate,
'My hard working boy now looks like dungeon bait!'
'How could you do this, you dottering old fool!
Did you sleep every day while in wizardry school?'
With the excitement now over, the father settled down,
upon the nearest table, his head he did pound.
Suddenly, a dark robed figure entered into the grog joint,
and at the old mage a withered finger he did point.
Then with a flash of yellow, the mage disappeared,
Everyone dove for cover, for spellcasters they now feared.
With an incantation shouted by the figure in black
the young boy named Jelly quickly transmuted back.
As he left the place everyone heard the words of the monk,
'Never let a bad spell caster cast spells, especially drunk!'
To this very day the young boy they call Jelly,
continues to stuff away cheese in his portly pot belly.
But his father is content, and he will always smile,
'This beats worrying about a daughter by a country mile.'
'Tis not that I don't want a girl,' claims the tired old father,
'But when a boy is young, he is less of a bother.'
'A young boy you must check up on every time and again,
'But! With a young girl, you must watch all the young men...