A Penny for the Old Guy

The election is over. Do you care? My favorite T.S. Eliot poem comes to mind:

“We are the hollow men
  We are the stuffed men
  Leaning together
  Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
  Our dried voices, when
  We whisper together
  Are quiet and meaningless
  As wind in dry grass
  Or rats’ feet over broken glass
  In our dry cellar.

 Shape without form, shade without colour,
 Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

 Those who have crossed
 With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
 Remember us-if at all-not as lost
 Violent souls, but only
 As the hollow men
 The stuffed men. …”

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