Not like the mighty woman with a torch
Of world-wide welcome — No! the fear-washed voice
Calls us to cowering hide behind a wall
With golden letters of the words, “Not you!”
The light of freedom then is hid away
From huddled masses yearning to breathe free.
Too wretched are the homeless, tired, poor
Who might bring down our city on the hill.
And yet the woman with the torch still cries;
To us, not to the ancient lands, she speaks;
She lifts her lamp to people, who are gifts!
She looks, not up to gleaming cities high,
But valleys filled with exiles sent — like us
The sons and daughters still of immigrants.
Dec 20, 2018
Bruce The Cameron 