(words in Bold are his paintings)

 

There was once a painter called Van Gogh,

Who painted young Adeline Ravoux,

Still life, Cabbage and Clogs,

A Cart with Black Ox,

And a Wheatfield covered in Crows.

 

The early works of Vincent Van Gogh,

Showed working folk, scenes set in snow,

A Peasant Burning Weeds,

Autumnal Landscape with Trees,

Sowing, picking, peeling and Eating Potatoes.

 

Off to Paris for Mr Van Gogh,

Where he painted the Female Torso,

A Vase of Hollyhocks,

Geraniums, and Flower Pots,

Some Mackerels, Lemons and Tomatoes

 

Whilst in Paris, Vincent began,

Formulating a marketing plan,

He took his paints off the shelf,

To create Portraits of Himself,

Forty-three that look like a bogeyman.

 

To Arles, hopefully, a creative year,

Depression for him loomed large and clear,

He painted his own rush weaved Chair,

And a Girl with ruffled hair,

Whilst he senselessly chopped off his left ear.

 

The apt, Self-Portrait with Bandaged Ear,

Followed by Crab on its Back, legs in the air,

The austere Roulin Family,

The One-Eyed Man looks so manly

Sunflowers are a treat throughout the year.

 

Eighteen Ninety and self committal,

To Saint Rémy mental hospital,

With his ear still in plaster,

He copied art of great masters,

With a reverence, not to belittle.

 

Possibly his greatest pieces,

To me his renown increases,

Rembrandt astounded,

Millet dumbfounded,

His artistic prowess never ceases.

 

In his final years, he was quite prolific,

His death was slow and horrific,

He shot himself for his art,

Narrowly missing his heart,

But his reasons were then unspecific.

 

His Starry Night painting you'll know,

Sunflowers is always on show

His Dutch period so stark

Somewhat moody and dark

Including The Wood Gathers in Snow

 

Vincent died aged just thirty-seven

Too young for his talent to ascend heaven

Brother Theo, so sorrowed

One year later he followed

From Hereditary depression