An Updated Statue of Liberty
Give me your tired, your poor
But only the ones we're looking for
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free
Provided they're not from a desolate country
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore
As long as they're privileged, eager for more
Send these, the homeless, tempest tossed to me
Given they'll work without salary
I lift my lamp beside the golden door
Sneak in now, if you're really sure
This poem is about:
My country