We climbed Mount Holyoke to see the vista
Along with our dear friend, more like a sister
The clouds filtering pre-sunset rays
Creating a romantic golden haze
The sky, the light, the river: all sublime
Our friend says she takes pictures, every time
Forgetting the ones she has on her phone
Yet each one has a distinct look of its own
She told us there was a famous picture made
By Thomas Cole of this same mountain glade
Painted almost two hundred years ago
The same bend in the river, called oxbow
And though the mountain and the river are of course
Far older than the painting—they’re its source—
As we stand here late afternoon in October
I think how both picture and mountain will one day be over
A painting sometimes can become degraded
An artist’s reputation may have faded
Mountains crumble, they do not last forever
Flooding and dry seasons change a river
And though we may not say it in a song
Sometimes even love won’t last too long
For now we have both picture and the view, my love
For now we have a song for me and you, my love
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