America
There are those that who prosper,
yet always those who will struggle.
America's slogal now seems an imposter
"land of the free", words that seem to puzzle.
Many sectioned out of the great mixing pot
it wasnt apart of the origional plot.
We stuggle with interior problems
and try to assist all the world
We need to rebuild our cloumns
and no longer have our concerns hurled.
Is America really great?
or are we raching out end date?
This poem is about:
My country