There are those who grow <br />gardens in their heads <br />paths lead from their hair <br />to sunny and white cities <br /> <br />it's easy for them to write <br />they close their eyes <br />immediately schools of images <br />stream down their foreheads <br /> <br />my imagination <br />is a piece of board <br />my sole instrument <br />is a wooden stick <br /> <br />I strike the board <br />it answer me <br />yes--yes <br />no--no <br /> <br />for others the green bell of a tree <br />the blue bell of water <br />I have a knocker <br />from unprotected gardens <br /> <br />I thump on the board <br />and it prompts me <br />with the moralists dry poem <br />yes--yes <br />no--no<br /><br />Zbigniew Herbert<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-knocker/
