This poem is about nothing. I’ve naught to say:
No message to impart, as is my inimitable way.
I espouse no moral ground on which to stand,
No political axe to grind: please do understand.,
I’ve no religious viewpoints to get across,
As for thoughts on world affairs? I’m at a loss
To explain.  I’ll let the words flow as they will
I’ve no intent to let strong passions over spill
Into extravagant prose. I’ll allow no obsession:
Nor wax eloquently to promote aggression
Or on other matters about which I’m obsessed!
I’ve no personal indiscretions to be confessed:
I’ll write not of ill health, love, death or hate:
Nor to being consumed about something I ate.
With no cause to promote or examine moral rights:
Or reason to comment on other illicit delights.
I’ll not write on poverty nor warming climate change!
Though by a poem on “Nothing,” I restrict the range
Addressed.  Forsooth I must confess, my true reason
For a poem on “Nothing” is boredom with winter’s Season!
Being thoroughly tired of snow; ice and bitter Arctic cold,
Writing this poem, is “Nothing” but a sure sign I grow old!

Rhymer.  February 2nd, 2018.