Mag 36

The New Colossus

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!"

Unfortunately, there is no originality in my brainpan this week.  The poem was written by Emma Lazarus and is engraved on the base of the Statue of Liberty in New York harbor.
 
And, yes, I know it's not necessarily a golden door in the photo but a Dutch door.  So be it.
 
Please look at Willow's Magpie Tales page for some writers with more imagination than this unworthy scribe.