According to Script
What I dread most in this political season is the “genuine” moment – and it is coming, soon, sometime between today and tomorrow, or tomorrow and New Hampshire – when Mrs. Clinton, in her ongoing effort to turn herself into whatever the polls says she must be, cries in public. It’s going to be genuinely ghastly.
And on such things does history turn. Too bad modernists killed poetry. A. Pope would have produced a classic.
Oh, Muse! Forgive my tempered state.
What cold decline can’t tears make good,
When they, from poll-led candidate,
Still serve to warm the sisterhood.