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,father,house,journey
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8/5/2026 11:58:23 PM # rel_20260803T153344Z_4267e77
