Tears Flow From the Land of Lady Liberty

The America we all Loved

Give me your tired, your poor, 
Your huddled masses, yearning to breathe free, 
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore, 
Send these, the homeless, tempest tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.

Emma Lazarus, 1883

The America We Have Become

Keep your tired, your poor,

Your caravan masses, yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore,

Keep these, the homeless, tempest tossed, they are no longer welcome.

I hide my lamp, close the golden door, and hang my head in shame…

America, 2019

Making America Great Again has cost us our soul.

(Here’s the original in all it’s glory)

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she

With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

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