Not like the brass statue of Greece,
With powerful legs that stretch from place to place.
At our oceans, the gates stand tall,
A woman, proud and strong, holds a flame
of dazzling merit. Her name?
The Mother of the Exiles. From her hand
a warm welcome glows. Her gentle eyes overlook the ocean that connects the world.
"Keep your nationality, your traditions" she cried
with still lips. "Give me your tired, your poor
The loads of people who want to be free,
The trash on your shore
Send these, the homeless, and others unwanted.
I will open the door of opportunity to them.
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