Writing in rhyme about Boccherini

In Lucca's cradle, Luigi Boccherini was born,
A son of melodies, from Tuscan lands adorned.
But fate's hand led him far, beyond familiar shore,
An apolitical wanderer, seeking muses evermore.

To Vienna's embrace, young Boccherini once strayed,
In the imperial city, where music dreams were made.
Yet brief was his sojourn, a glimpse of distant stars,
For Paris beckoned next, with its artistic bazaars.

In Parisian salons, Boccherini's strings did sing,
A virtuoso of the cello, a composer with a wing.
But destiny's winds soon shifted, Madrid his new domain,
A golden prison of patronage, where his talents did sustain.

Amidst Spanish courts, Boccherini found his lot,
Composing with fervor, in a cultural melting pot.
His strings spoke of passion, of Iberian allure,
Yet an apolide's heart yearned for melodies pure.

In Madrid's embrace, Boccherini's legacy grew,
Chamber music symphonies, sonatas born anew.
Though far from native Lucca, his spirit soared and swayed,
A citizen of music, in lands where dreams were laid.

So let us remember Boccherini's nomadic quest,
A life of compositions, from east to distant west.
An apolide in spirit, with strings that knew no bounds,
Luigi Boccherini, where musical passion resounds.