It's a short poem ..

Something to write, something to fight; that will keep me going
Blowing in the wind, I am unhinged; drifting but I'm growing

Laying, resting and making poppers' sound; it's dribbling with my head
Naught someone nothing I was; now am in it with bunk and bed

Spreading hidden brown feathers, with a crusty zipping sound;
It makes when exposure to the air, escaping from the ground