Church of San Martín (Frómista, Spain)

In Frómista's heart, a timeless tale unfolds,
Where French Way's pilgrims wander, young and old.
Since twelfth century's dawn, it stands in pride,
In Calixtino Codex, its name doth abide.

From humble monastery, Frómista's soul arose,
Born of Sancho's widow, in tranquil repose.
A beacon of faith, in Castilla's embrace,
San Martín's legacy, a sacred grace.

For decades, craftsmen toiled with care,
Building Romanesque beauty, beyond compare.
In nineteen hundred's dawn, a restoration divine,
Preserved its splendor, for all time.

San Martín de Frómista, a jewel of old,
With walls that whisper tales, untold.
In its hallowed halls, echoes of the past,
Speak of pilgrims' journeys, that forever last.

Oh, San Martín, your beauty transcends,
A testament to faith, that never ends.
From humble beginnings, to grandeur untold,
In Fromista's heart, your story unfolds.

So let us raise our voices high,
In praise of San Martín, reaching the sky.
For in its walls, history's echo rings,
A timeless tribute, to sacred things.