The mountains rise like giants roundThe mist enfolds their ancient moundsA castle hides within their wallsAs grand as mountains to the thrallsWhose hands brought forth the masterpieceBy order of a man of griefKing Ludwig, mad he was indeedHe listened to wants and not to needsThe throne room grand, is guarded byThe saints and kings depicted nighAbove the place where king would sitIs Jesus, Pax vobiscum sitThe chandelier hangs high aboveMosaic floors and guided stuffThe throne is gone, was never thereThe king was dead too soon to careThe bedroom of the king is smallWith intricate woodwork decorating allThe canopy of his bed is like the domesOf the cathedrals you can see in RomeA synthetic cave leads you on to the hallWhere music competitions are held every fallWith scenes of Wagner on everythingThe composer much beloved by the kingThe gold and precious gems adornWalls and halls now long forlornHe lived there not for half a yearThis castle that he held so dearUnfit to rule he was declaredAnd sent to somewhere far from thereAnd dead was found not one day henceAnd all thought it due recompenseThe castle lone, unfinished layBut not for long, for soon would theyOpen its doors again, this timeNot for royal but common eyesA museum it became, a museum it remainsFor years to come, until todayAnd so, a waste for mad King LudwigA waste it's not for all the touristsThey didn't allow pictures in the castle so you'll have to let my poor poetry paint the picture. :)
Hannah





As a person who experienced the locals celebrating King Ludwig's birthday in the middle of the night....I was so impressed with your poetry, Hannah. I thought it was something in the museum...until I got to the end. Very nice....but poor mad King Ludwig.
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