at our beautiful little lake miles and miles from the Gulf. My heart's sick, our hearts are all sick. And we have our own local reasons--Asian carp, for example. And the zebra mussels have cleaned out the nutrients from our lake--no food for minnows, no local crawdads left. "Was each an Eden waiting to be lost?" asks Linda Pastan in her poem.from Fleda Brown: Traverse City Record-Eagle: On Poetry: The common moment hits hard
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