Oh, I’m sitting here,

Just sitting here,

And trying to write a poem.

But how to write,

Oh what to write,

When I’ve nothing to write about.

“Oh, of course you do,” was my reply,

“All you’ve got to do is try,

Just pick up a pen and write something down.”

“Just write something down?”

I asked with a frown,

“But what should that something be?”

“Why, anything, oh anything,

Oh, anything at all.”

I said.

I stopped for a moment,

And I thought it through,

And I came up with an answer, with

Which I can’t argue.

“But nothing is anything,

And something is anything,

And so by writing nothing,

I am writing something,

I am writing anything,

Anything at all.”

For a moment I looked at me,

And I looked at I,

Then she nodded her approval,

And threw me a smile.

And so by writing nothing,

I am writing something,

And something is anything,

Anything at all.

And anything is everything,

So, by writing nothing,

Aren’t I writing everything?

But if I’m writing everything,

I’m not writing nothing,

I am writing everything,

Everything at all.

So if I write nothing,

I’m not writing nothing,

I am writing something,

‘Cause I am writing anything,

And everything at all.

NOTHING.