Beneath the veil of starlit skies, in Lucca’s quiet embrace, Where whispered prayers like incense rise, in sanctity and grace, There dwelt a soul of pure intent, as fragile as it’s strong, Galgani, heaven-sent, to whom the angels throng.
Her youth was draped in sorrow’s guise, her body wracked with pain, Yet, from her depths, no plaintive cries, but love’s eternal flame. With stigmata, her hands were marked, with Christ’s own sacred plight, Through every trial, her spirit sparked, reflecting Heaven’s light.
In visions wrapped, she oft would speak with patron saints of yore, Her countenance, so mild and meek, a heart the Savior bore. The roses of her mystic garden bloomed beneath her gaze, Her prayers, a balm to those harden’d, her life, a hymn of praise.
Oh, Gemma, with the violet eyes, like twilight o’er the lea, Your sufferings were no disguise, but steps to Calvary. A conduit of celestial will, in every act devout, Your legacy, it lingers still, it casts away all doubt.
In dreams of night, the angels tread around her peaceful form, Her saintly vigil, not misled, a beacon through the storm. Ascend, sweet maid, to realms above, where golden streets await, Embrace the heart of divine love, pass through the pearly gate.
Thus Gemma, in her quietude, transcends the mortal coil, A soul so beatifically imbued, consecrated in hallowed soil. And now within the starry host, where saints and seraphs sing, Galgani’s spirit’s most adored by Heaven’s King.