There was a girl named Wendy Wise,
who didn’t like to exercise.
She wouldn’t ever lift a weight,
or skip a rope, or roller skate.
You’d never see her ride a bike,
or bounce a ball, or take a hike.
She wouldn’t run, or trot, or jog,
or go outside and walk the dog.
She wouldn’t skip or climb a hill,
or practice any kind of skill
like jumping rope or playing ball.
She wouldn’t exercise at all.
It’s no surprise that Wendy Wise,
who didn’t like to exercise,
would pass away one fateful day,
and in a rather tragic way.
You see, that day, up in the sky,
a tiny bird was flying by.
It lost a feather, small and brown,
that slowly, slowly, drifted down,
and landed right on Wendy’s head.
It knocked her down and killed her dead.
She was, it seems, so frail and weak,
with such a sickly, sad physique
that, when that feather touched her hair,
it did her in, right then and there.
Poor Wendy! What an awful shame.
If only she had played a game,
or went outside to run around,
or practiced jumping up and down,
or had a swim, or took a dive,
today she might still be alive.
Regrettably, it’s now too late,
and Wendy Wise has met her fate.
But I, my friend, would much prefer
that you do not end up like her.
So please go out and play a game,
because, you see, despite her name,
to never, ever exercise
like Wendy, isn’t very wise.
— Kenn Nesbitt