Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free
Your wretched refuse of your teeming shore
Send these ,the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me:
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.
Emma Lazarus
Your Poor
Your Poor - not here
Give me not your tired, your poor,
Your barbaric masses willing to be beastly,
Your wretched refuse ready to ruin the shore.
Send these the homeless home, do not send to me:
I lift my lamp of liberty beside my closed door.
Yorktown Disciple
Order # 10315
Poem - Your Poor - Yorktown Disciple
Yorktown Disciple
Poem Believer
Poetizing around the world
Original Poem
Poems to help you have a happy life
