The bus leaves us walking, heat still holding the day Basilica waiting, near three hundred years of stone Gold light finds the towers, and there — I see them Iron ladders climbing, tier by tier, like a prayer
And I can’t stop wondering Who were they The men who climbed to ring the bells Day after day, year after year
Before buttons, before automation Before convenience took the place of hands Someone climbed those rungs through storm and through dark Kept the whole village turning by the bells they rang Time to wake, time for children coming home Time to rest — the campanero kept it all Kept it all
Were they honored, or were they pitied Did anyone bring them water, coffee on the cold mornings What happened when they fell — because they must have Were they cared for, or simply replaced
Before buttons, before automation Before convenience took the place of hands Someone climbed those rungs through storm and through dark Kept the whole village turning by the bells they rang Time to wake, time for children coming home Time to rest — the campanero kept it all Kept it all
The bells ring clean now — automatic, no one climbing in the dark But something’s lost in that The reminder that comfort has a cost That someone, always someone climbs so the rest of us can safely count the hours
Unknown, unnamed, unsung Three hundred years of men like these Holding time for everyone Invisible, essential, overlooked I’m standing here at sunset Stone still warm beneath my palm And somewhere in this light, this old wall holds them
They deserve to be remembered So I’m remembering them now Three hundred years late Watching the ladders climb toward the sky Not forgotten Not anymore