Sonnet 9: St. Ephrem of Syria

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That dessert line between the East and West,

May have been born to a Pagan father,

But he was feed by a Christian mom's breast;

With isolation he did not bother:
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He sang holy songs, pleasant to the ear,

God's love graced all who would come to hear it,

He fought profane heresies without fear,

Praised as the Harp of the Holy Spirit:
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When his hometown was flanked by the Persians,

The shepherd led his flock west to safety.

His old school still bred countless conversions,

Tending the sick, death came too hastily:
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You taught and fought through the musical arts,

I hope through my sonnets to touch their hearts.

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