Mr Win Whimster

Mr Win Whimster, wag of the whimsical whim,

Was most often seen as exceptionally dim.

Especially in regard, and because of, his death,

The day he was en route to his friend Seth.

When along on the way he did stop to pay

To have a climb up and ride upon the hide

Of an elephant within his most local zoo,

Thinking, “Just like my lovely friend, Sue!”

Upon the elephant’s top Win felt like the Raj:

The world did take on a brand new visage,

Giving him the really quite marvellous feeling
That, actually, most actually, oh yes, quite anything

Was most surely possible, not merely probable-

And that’s when the final whim came unto him,

Like a long-forgotten hazy dream

Of a children's cartoon scene.

And up onto his feet Mr Whimster leapt,

To the top of the trunk Mr Whimster crept,

From where he surveyed his route down,
And did make his decision without frown,
To ride the trunk in one great slide

And end in a cartwheel- no, really- for real.

Instead it went as onlookers feared,

With Win upon both the tusks speared.

One through the chest and one through the crotch-

Each as deadly as Grim Reaper's touch.

A whim too far, a whim did end,

Whims were no longer Win's friends.

An unforeseen slip ended in skin ripped,
A lack of a plan ended Win's lifespan.
No longer whimsical, now only deadly
Luck can turn all a bit too read'ly.
And so our Whimster is known
For his final, uncomfortable, throne.
Not for his life of fun and frolic,
But the full stop of deadly colic.
A whim-led life leads to strife,
Not keeping safe brings a wraith.
It's not wise to become a bloody mess,
As surely Whimster would now confess.