This started as just a blank page
Torn a little showing its age
Slowly words began to appear
All mixed up as a confused smear
One by one these were rearranged
Into meaningful sentences they were changed
Now one by one you start to read
Taking haste over speed
It all makes sense apart from one thing
This poem does not have a meaning
Just a blank page with rearranged words
Written by someone who is with the birds
