America the Beautiful

Upon the guilded statue given to us by a true friend, 

Rests a plague so very old by Emma Lazarus, 

It states: "Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp," she cries, 

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 besides the golden door!" 

In a land built by immigrants, given to immigrants, 

the only natives were the americans and their native culture, 

we as immigrants, may hap been born here now, 

but looking back, someone in our family line, 

braved the masses, headed on a ship, and travelled here, 

america is the melting pot for immigrants, 

it's time that we accepted that fact again, 

proved to ourselves and others that america will become the greatest country of the world again, 

because of those we accept, not those we turn away, 

for never an immigrant is too good for us. 

This poem is about: 
My country

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