Even my big black truck's windshield wipers made music
while I peered through the smears at the lines on the mountain road
First they played Haydn's "Rider" and we tried to sit still
but applause broke out between movements and the cellist smiled
Next was tricky, Bartok's number five, arching dissonance
and spooky sounds of night mixed in with a melancholy or longing
At intermission, the retired bookseller said he liked the first one—
but the second, too raucous. I thought of the miles the quartet had traveled
Dvorak's piano quintet with the young feisty pianist came last
forty-five minutes that lasted three days or a rapid plunk on the viola
We stood right away, we cheered, we roared and shouted for more
you know how greedy we get
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