Poems about Immigration

In eighteen eighty-seven, a thread was spun, A mill was born in Fort Mill’s hands.

For crying out loud Due to the outcome I was not particularly proud

This pen

On the distant heights of exile, that child sits. His beard is the ash of years, and his eyes gaze into eternity.

Behind the sky's cane is a wormhole and the remnants of my galaxy grandmother.

I am my immigrants Parent’s daughter I am their hopes and dreams they once wished to achieve, molded as if I were clay to achieve what th

Everything gets warm.The flowers turn into fruit.During the chill time.

With a lot of luck In a world full of hostility, altercations, and transgressions

Under The Bridge In Del Rio, Texas USA

Let Haiti be absolutely free

No racist rat is indeed above the law Justice must be blind, fair, equal and raw

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