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The Web Poetry Corner - Philip Claude Andermann - Night



Philip Claude Andermann

Next to a hill
of bodies
in the night, with a fiddle
he played Mendelssohn.
Next day
still, he was a mountain.

I wept when reborn he staked out Sarajevo
and stilled the snipers
on his battlefield with a viola,
and he won the world...
a day.

To visit all of Philip Claude Andermann's poems, click HERE

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