When I sit down and say: 'I want to write',
no furrowed forehead do I next enjoin;
nor do I start to search the trees - perhaps,
I rest my tired head upon my hand.
For I am always tired when I write:
nothing like it for receptivity!
For what is the idea, if not a gift?
And who more ideal the recipient?
And I always know what I want to write:
no rover am I, whose vowels spin like wheels -
or if they do, a pedal-bike's are mine!
I never do have very far to go:
but strenuous - and I say I am tired
when I write! - and I say ideas are gifts!
