Unknown But Not Unsung Poem by Sergio Savioli

UNKNOWN BUT NOT UNSUNG

It is late evening in Marienplatz in Munich, people are scanty, the area is almost empty but a street portrait artist, slightly tatty, is still standing in one of the shopfront vestibules with his easel, foldable stools, boards, crayons, charcoal pencils and other paraphernalia, with little work before, now even less, he is thinking it's time to leave, time to return to his resting place in the Englischer Garten, perhaps have a bite to eat before surrendering to a night's rest, when out of almost nowhere, two swaggering young men, smirking and sneering, stride over and with destructive intent and wicked glee, viciously kick over easel and little stools, scatter pencils all around, stirring up trouble, giving some heavy hassle, flexing their mindless muscles, maybe intending to kick the artist's head and stomp on his hands too, is it boredom, is it hatred of diversity, is it just yobbishness? who can say, your guess is as good as mine, then, out of nowhere, a dapper, smallish man appears, distinguished looking and not one bit young, standing firm and absolutely fearlessly, he gives them a very long lashing tirade with his tongue, while the artist looks on in amazement, not understanding the German, all he knows is that the thugs now look ashamed and crestfallen, they bow their heads and walk contritely away, while the dapper little man, does not even wait to be thanked, he just quietly and confidently strides off toward the Isartor, and the artist man looks on and really wonders hard at what the spry little man, definitely a guardian angel, had said, all he knows is that the yobs' transformation is complete, so grateful and relieved, he packs away his things and now feels even amused, how do I know? well, I was there, the skin that was saved was mine, I owe him much, I came away unscathed thanks to this bold, articulate hero, who proved the power of words and spirit and though unknown, at least now, I hope, is not unsung.