Happy birthday, Beethoven, dear Ludwig!
Your season is here, your pure reason for
being. This blue spinning globe needs you more
every day as we plummet and soar, big
movements colliding with pockets of fear,
deafening hearts that seek to even some
score—what bores, pounding upon off-pitch drums.
You, though, never gave a ripe fig to fear.
You rose to odes of joy so we could hear
your ninth proclaims universal welcome,
encompassing all who have passed and come
again, naked and howling. With good cheer,
we shall compose beneath the moonlit tree,
and prove to be your greatest symphony.
If you like the framed photo of Beethoven as much as the music teacher who bought it, then you’ll love the gifts at Past Perfect Antiquity.
© Elaine Stirling, 2015