I waited there, outside of Time,
until my time should come.
You didnt think about me much
it was enough for you to clutch
those brighter trophies you had won.
But now Im here in my full being
naked, brutish, plain as day.
What can you say to those you love
except, theres one you more than love
who must now have her way?
Frederick Morgan was the editor of The Hudson Review
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This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 15 September 1996, on page 90
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