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As the resident artist at EcoHealth, I pen verse these days inspired by the specter of future pandemics; for my dissertation at Amerika-Institut of LMU München, where I edit a weekly circular on poetry, I'm anatomizing the prosody of E. A. Robinson's sonnets—I also teach English, tutor composition, and lead a literary circle.

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The Story of the Ashes and the Flame

by E. A. Robinson

No matter why, nor whence, nor when she came,
There was her place. No matter what men said,
No matter what she was; living or dead,
Faithful or not, he loved her all the same.
The story was as old as human shame,       
But ever since that lonely night she fled,
With books to blind him, he had only read
The story of the ashes and the flame.
 
There she was always coming pretty soon
To fool him back, with penitent scared eyes       
That had in them the laughter of the moon
For baffled lovers, and to make him think—
Before she gave him time enough to wink—
Her kisses were the keys to Paradise.

Note:  A recitation can be heard here.

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