Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away; Lengthen night and shorten day; Every leaf speaks bliss to me Fluttering from the autumn tree. I shall smile when wreaths of snow Blossom where the rose should grow; I shall sing when night’s decay Ushers in a drearier day. –Emily Brontë (1818–48) | | If you enjoy the Almanac Companion... | | | | | THE OLD FARMER SELECTED THESE PRODUCTS FOR YOU | | | | | | Did a friend forward you this briefing? You can sign up here. If you enjoy this newsletter, consider picking up a copy of The Old Farmer's Almanac. Your support makes this all possible! | | | | You received this email because you signed for updates from The Old Farmer's Almanac. If you do not wish to receive our regular e-mail newsletter in the future, please click here to manage preferences. *Please do not reply to this e-mail* © Yankee Publishing Inc. An Employee-Owned Company 1121 Main Street | P.O. Box 520 | Dublin, NH 03444 Contact Us View web version | | | | |
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