Seasonal advice, wit, and wisdom from your editors |
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Now is the time for the burning of the leaves. They go to the fire; the nostril pricks with smoke Wandering slowly into a weeping mist. Brittle and blotched, ragged and rotten sheaves! A flame seizes the smouldering ruin and bites On stubborn stalks that crackle as they resist. –Robert Laurence Binyon (1869–1943) |
| THE OLD FARMER SELECTED THESE PRODUCTS FOR YOU |
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