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National Review / Digital
Poetry


Text  


OMEGA

All day long my watch has been stopping
On me, every few hours, a good Omega
Automatic chronometer, certified,
Gold face and bezel, circa 1970,
Self-winding. My father left it to me
When he died, and never has the watch
Given me a minute’s trouble. Maybe
Today I’m too still to keep it wound,
And it’s much later than I thought;
Lost hours are shimmering into twilight.
I shake the timepiece, it awakens. I set
The hands that promise to keep moving,
Listen to be sure that we’re still ticking.


Contents
February 21, 2011    |     Volume LXIII, No. 3

Articles
  • What the Egyptian unrest says about, and portends for, the region.
  • Comparing French and American responses to the Middle East upheavals.
  • If both seek the presidency, it could split the Republican party.
  • We’re wasting billions on rockets to nowhere.
  • Let’s stop Obamacare without blowing up the constitutional order.
Features
Books, Arts & Manners
Sections
The Long View  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  
Athwart  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  
Poetry  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .