Monday, 30 January 2017

The Statue of Liberty

"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-tossed to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

I wouldn't usually comment on American politics, but these words, now seemingly redundant, are from the Statue of Liberty

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