December 12^th, 2024

The morning sun shines in the lonely window.
I sit up straight, and my mind clears.
With a brush, I paint a landscape;
In a book, I study things from every age.
I have no desire to be a king;
My old broom is worth thousands
Of pounds of gold.
I’m happy to be in Imchun,
Reciting a poem, in solitude,
Away from the world