Picking up a pen, with nothing particular in mind
Squeezing the brain, to write a poem of some kind
Out came a sentence or two, just faint, incoherent sparks
Leading to nowhere, but shrouded again in the dark.
Still lacking a rhyme, the brain kept on working
Out came nothing, but a sensation of whirling
Feeling much frustrated, the mind started to revolve
Out came this poem, finally the problem was solved.
Han Min Ohn
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/nihility-a-poem-itself/
