Joyous images aren't easily found
Do we search for them?
Or do we let them find us?
Can they be found in the resinous voice of the violin?
Or in the point of a pen?
Can we find them among the voices of the world?
Or within our own hearts?
Joyous images are much like good ideas
Sometimes they will come to you like an obedient dog
Or run from you like a frightened hare.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem