If I Was the Poetic Elephant In the Room

I wake up in the morning, eat my bran and germ, You know I'm pretty hungry, since I'm a pachyderm. I have to write a poem, will hold the pencil with my trunk, Better read up on style, courtesy of White and Strunk. The poem, it must be just right, not too long nor brusque, Yes that's right - you got it - then something about a tusk. I may be big as writers go, but I'm smaller than a whale, Away, pesky illiterate fly, I'll swish you with my tale. Such a perfect morning, with tea so hot and sweet, My poem will be playful, my prose light on its feet. I've just one sheet of paper, but no worries, mate, no fears, I'll pick up my trusty ink pen, and write upon my ears.