As the days grow short and mornings chill and those last knockout roses cling sadly to summer, it seems the time to share this unsettling little poem by T.S. Eliot. Song When we came home across the hill No leaves were fallen from the trees; The gentle fingers of the breeze Had torn no quivering cobweb down. The hedgerow bloomed with flowers still, No …
October 25, 2016
by jenniferpuryear
Three Shivers
Book Title: The Rain in Portugal: Poems