Dvorak: A Saturday Poem

Dvorak

How can someone dead six decades before my life
move me so? How can his decaying tympanis
cause my heart to quell its perturbations
with a conductor’s descending baton?
Tell me that no genius burned
within the flags and dots of
each five-staffed page.
And I will mention,
you do not know
my composer,
my Dvorak!

c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2009