This poem is based on a memory of Curt Jurgens' Stromberg character in the Bond movie, The Spy Who Loved Me.
Stromberg owned a shipping line, and possessed a fearsome looking spider-like submarine, and, when not planning the destruction of mankind, he could be found at his large dining table listening to Bach, Mozart, and other great composers of the classical world.

All right for some, eh? :-)

MOZART


A megalomaniac's submarine slowly rises
from the sea to the strains of Mozart's concerto;
James Bond isn't so classy as Wolfgang Amadeus.

I don't know the first thing about submarines
or symphonies, but anyone who dies
in a pauper's grave after giving
the world such sublime music
has to be special, like Tchaikovsky
and his ballets; an elegance
transcending the centuries.