Beethoven-Haus Poem by Leslie Philibert
Beethoven-Haus
we drove late afternoon
over the dirty Rhein,
the sky fake with orange,
to Bonn, to a house of cool, empty rooms,
white with words, dark with chords,
to an elegant Hammerflügel,
for my father the end of a journey,
but the start of the sublime.
Friday, January 6, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: death
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4/23/2024 3:28:18 PM # 1.0.0.1119
