Once in Assisi lived a dreamer,
Son of a merchant, clothed in splendor.
He had it all—fine feasts and friends,
A life of ease that never ends.

Then came the war at Perugia’s gate,
He fought, was captured, met his fate.
For months he lay in weary pain,
And all his riches seemed in vain.

When at last he made his way back home,
His heart was changed—no more to roam
In search of gold or fleeting fame—
He felt a higher, holy flame.

In the town square he gave away
His fine attire and chose to stay
With humble cloth upon his frame,
A simple life his only aim.

Christ’s gentle voice came to his ear:
“Repair my house”—the call was clear.
He fixed the chapel, stone by stone,
And found a purpose all his own.

He traveled on to Rome’s great halls,
The Pope’s blessing echoed through the walls.
An Order formed in poverty,
Bound by love and unity.

He walked with the lepers, cared for the poor,
And brought God’s healing at each door.
He spoke with birds beneath the sky,
Called Sun his brother, Moon his ally.

“Make me an instrument,” he prayed,
“Of your peace,” each night and day
His trust in God’s transforming grace—
A humble heart in sacred space.

He journeyed east to lands afar,
And sought the Sultan ‘neath his star.
With gentle words he won consent
To plant his friars where faith was meant.

On Alverne’s mount, in prayer’s deep light,
He bore the wounds of sacred sight.
Five stigmata upon his frame,
A sign that he would bear Christ’s name.

Little Frankie—Francis pure and mild—
Walked with Mary, Michael as guide.
He called their guidance, felt their care,
Their loving presence everywhere.

So here’s the tale of Francis true—
A man whose heart to Heaven flew.
He chose the lowly, chose to serve,
And found in giving all his nerve.

May we, like him, in simple ways,
Embrace the world with gentle praise.
In peace and love let’s make our stand,
With open heart and helping hand.

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