Yesterday I posted in regard to my angst about this being the final season for the HBO series, Game of Thrones. On my Facebook feed I was soon chastised, politely, for my error. Indeed, this is not the final season. There will be one more after this.
On one hand I’m aggrieved that I made such an egregious error on an easily verifiable issue. I mean, it’s not like I was speculating on the exact date the world will end or the moment the polar ice caps will crumble into the sea. But on the other hand I’m so genuinely glad that I won’t have to contemplate living in a world without Game of Thrones once this season has come to an end.
And the way things are going, with North Korea threatening nuclear war on the international stage and white supremacists threatening on the domestic front, we might not make it to next year anyway. Now there’s a cheerful thought.
Maybe this little poem will ease our troubled minds:
Will Jon Snow find a Walker
And bring him home to Cersei fair?
Will Arya kill Littlefinger
By luring him into her lair?
Is Cersei carrying Jamie’s child?
Only time will tell.
Has Samwell made a prudent choice
In leaving the Citadel?
Has Sansa succumbed to power?
Has it gone straight to her head?
Will Daenerys lead her dragons
In a fight against the dead?
We won’t know at season’s end
There’ll be more shows to come
But I’ll be sitting front and center
Watching every one.