My city, today wrapped in winter, dawns joyfully dressed in culture, music and color. Its streets full of life, evoke memories when turning every corner to meet common people, with deep roots.
My Contramaestre, bathed by the fresh waters of its river that gives its name, glimpses through its village language in each of its corners, in its unique square, in its tiny parks, in each house.
My beautiful city sings, dreams day by day, suffers, cries, laughs, raising the soul of those who live it, of those men and women who with the passage of time do not forget their genesis to tell their story as a necessary remembrance.
My Contramaestre today embraces her children, without forgetting that birth subject to the will of others who only wanted to paw under their pockets the price of its value and then left, leaving behind their fortuitous destiny.
Its identity, celebrating this February 5th, recognizes the value of the skin of its people, of its buildings made of sweat and sacrifice, of its inhabitants who proudly carry the traces of their history.
It is this piece of land, the face of a city still young, colorful, that cries out for visible transformations, with elegance to continue being the inspiration of artists, writers and poets, to make the city environment a seductive paradise that continues to trap children and visitors.
To love my Contramaestre with 111 years of life, is a commitment that needs its peers to have better luck and splendor, to not let our resemblance never die, to make this city a living, useful and virtuous presence.
