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Narrow streets overlooked by red-tiled roofs,
lie brightly in the April sun while small robins
nap  in the branches of the blooming buds,
but awakened by the voices of vibrant youths.

The young nuns in black attire, cross the voice-filled street
of vendors and buyers, they can't be late for The Lord's Passion;    
punctuality counts, it's a creed they firmily believe with conviction,
which is not found in souls that aren't so meek. 
  
In this southern, friendly town faith matters more than wealth:
their devotion to Christ is that spring that never stops flowing... 
it's passed from mother to daughter and son: it's following 
the Cross until they reach the steps of the crowded church.  

The middle-aged priest stands in the doorway and greets them all,
such a fervent faith is too undeniable in the faithful's overjoyed eyes...
Christ's life was given up for all sinners: poor, rich, big and small;
the Blessing of the Cross is an emotion deeply felt in grateful hearts.

This peaceful town at the foot the mountains dazzles in the mild noon,
the balmy breeze coming from the North brings in the fragrance of pines;
who was born here, will return and dwell in this valley of sacred shrines,
can all the wonders he saw be as enchanting as the midnight argent moon? 
 

Written on 5/16/2017

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