The Copper Lady


United States
40° 57' 2.07" N, 73° 43' 48.4788" W

Tear down the copper lady
Lamp lifted high, interrupting the sky
Tear down her lies.

She is unfittingly crowned
Reigning a farce where grace is sparse
And the wretched refuse remain.

The golden door is no more
We are still tired, still poor
Still wanting, still sore.
Tempest tost to her shore,
The dress she wore
And promise she bore
Unwound at their core.
And we've ignored.

Quietly under these stars,
The now fifty,
Our rights are wrong.

Yet no one tastes deceit.
They see Liberty metallic,
Blue as the waters she commands,
Beckoning, inspring.

Tear down the copper lady.

Guide that inspired this poem: 


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