Il Lupo

In Gubbio, era: Medieval night/day
A large, hairy beast kept the people at bay.
Il Lupo, the wolf, with a hunger unfed
Attacked the hill town until much blood was shed
And the fear of Il Lupo consumed every head.

The villagers feared that their wall could not keep
Out this cold-hearted thing who would kill them in sleep.
The marksmen flung arrows that hit only air,
The bravest of soldiers were filled with despair,
And the churches were stewing with unanswered prayer.

Now at this same time, a young visitor came
With a warm, gentle nature and oft-mentioned name
Of Saint Francis, the man who found beauty in all.
He witnessed their fear and heard their tears fall,
And he worried as anger built inside the wall.

"Can you kill it?" they begged. "Can you pray to the skies
To send down some lightening and make the beast fry?
Can your God give it pain 'til its heart beats no more?
Can he break all its bones and settle this score?
Can you save us, Saint Francis? The wolf's at our door?"

"I will pray," said Saint Francis, "but not out of hate.
I will pray for compassion to lighten your weight.
We all have a heart that is beating inside,
And we all have our fears, which can cause us to hide
In the skins of a monster. Now please, step aside."

Saint Francis walked out to the edge of the wood
And he called to the beast to come where he stood.
And slowly and animal rustled the green.
A four-legged creature with tail could be seen.
Il Lupo stepped out as if into a dream.

Saint Francis sat down and so quietly said,
"Come to me, fine creature. Please come rest your head."
Il Lupo looked 'round and then cautiously placed
One paw at a time towards the figure of grace
Until they were close. One face to one face.

"You are sad. You are hungry. I see these things well.
Now what can I do so that your kind may dwell
Among people in peace?" the saint meekly posed.
And the wolf sent a breath of relief through his nose
Before laying his muzzle on Francis' toes.

A story soon followed, ne'er spoke before,
Told to a two-legged creature from four.
A tale of great restlessness, dark scary nights,
And of nothing to eat unless killed in a fight.
"I hear you," said Francis. "Let's turn wrong to right."

And for many years after a dish was left out
For kind old Il Lupo to eat with a snout
That never need taste blood of human again.
All needs were met and the beast became friend.
And thus is the story so writ by my pen.

This tale of medieval time could teach us now
How to open our hearts when fear wrinkles our brow.
When the wolf comes to us may we kneel at its side.
May we listen when others are poor or denied.
May we try that one option we never have tried.

(from dance theater piece, "L'Anima", 2006. See current projects, videos and photo gallery.)



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©2006 Marjorie Morgan