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Oh Olana Morn poem

Updated on February 26, 2013

Olana Frederic Church's home

Oh Olana Morn


Oh Olana Morn

Your leaves are burnt

Your mask forlorn

Yet beauty breathes

The mountain air

Forgiven time

Leaves no heir

Beseech the wind

With toppled leaves

Cry "Mercy, mercy please

Sir Church's blood

Stains the stairs

Which creak and whine

To missing heirs

The precious jewels

In solitude

The cars roar over cobblestone

The heart shaped lake cradles you

Above the earth you stand and sleep

Oh Olana morn

This poem is about Frederic Church's Estate and Castle. He was a devote landscape artist and collector of art in his travels through the world. A loving husband that had a hand dug heart shaped lake made for his wife. The beauty of his estate is worth the 2 hour drive from NYC.

(C) B. A. Wiliams

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      tipasinthe 5 years ago

      Loved and felt your poem, thank you