Make a nursery rhyme

[TranquillityBase]

Monk in a box-box kite
flying so high
stands on his tip-toes
to embrace the sky.

Toes take a slip
down goes the monk
orange robes frolic and flip
till he lands with a plunk.

Monks below the sight 
burn with delight,
death is just a game
without any shame,
next monk steps in
face one big grin. 

"The third monk to fly was rather cocksure . . . and considered himself to be the best "airman" ever. Up he went in the air, perhaps five hundred feet up. Instead of sliding down into the vee, he straightened up, climbed inside the box kite, missed his footing and fell out of the tail end: one hand caught on the back cross-strut, and for a few seconds he hung by one hand. We saw his other hand flailing vainly trying to get a grip, then the kite bobbed, and he lost his hold and went tumbling down end over end down the rocks five thousand feet below, his robe whipping and fluttering like a blood-red cloud.

The kite was hauled down and examined to see if it had sustained any damage: then I went up again." 


T. Lobsang Rampa "The Third Eye"