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

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