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…
T.S. Eliot
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You’ve either got a taste for the blood-drenched, sexed-up, medieval-flavored political brilliance of Game of Thrones – or you don’t. I figure I’m in good company with Margaret Atwood, who says, “Once sucked in, you stay sucked. Be warned.” I’m also expecting…