Memoirs of an Italian City | Teen Ink

Memoirs of an Italian City MAG

By Anonymous

Assisi is a place unlike any other on Earth or the deepestreaches of the human mind.
I can still see the placevividly, five years later, like a master'spainting.
The narrow, steep cobblestone streets thatrun through the village and give off an auraof
incomprehensible age.
And the ancient littlecottages where people dwell.
The beauty is astounding,yet pales in comparison to the church.
The church, no,the cathedral that stands proud for St. Francis, watching overthe village's
inhabitants as if it were theirmother.
The stunning frescoes that fill thewalls
sharing sacred secrets of the saint'slife.
Then there are the sculptures which must havebeen brought
down from the heavens, couldn't have beenconstructed by man's bare hands.
The small stonebuilding where the faithful come to pray.
The rosegarden that was the site of a miracle.
And the monkdressed in simple brown cloth who appeared out ofnowhere
(a white dove resting peacefully in his hands),brightening peoples' days
with his gentle smile,pledged eternally in silence.

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