I am a wandering traveler,
Rejected by my people.
Exiled by my home,
A beast of no nation.

I traveled to many lands with their guardian patrons,
Lands with great walls and giant bears,
Lands with tall towers and lions of water,
Lands with cast deserts and tiny oases,
Lands with jungles and remnants of war,

I then stumbled upon a weeping giant
A lady of patina green standing tall,
Standing on a grand throne with the words:
“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-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

She tells me that she is a mother of many children
Some come on ships from Europe
Some from Orient boats
Some from caravans across the border
Some were forced in chains and bondage
Some have lived in the land for thousands of years

But as a good mother is,
She guides her children with her golden torch in the dark of night,
She welcomes her children unto a warm embrace
A family of brothers and sisters of the exiled.
A family that’s been through many problems
A family of rejects that stand on top of the world.

And so I asked her, why does she weep?
Her family is abundant and rich, all of the other lands serve them

And she showed me a vision down south
Of separated families,
children under five placed in cages
By men in suits laughing in the Waldorf Astoria
The same men whose ancestors she welcomed
When they came from afar to escape poverty

She then showed me another vision,
Of families with covered heads,
Fleeing war and gunfire,
But when they reached out their hands towards Mother Liberty
Her sons and daughters who once sought freedom in her,
Deny them their asylum.

She weeps for the rejected,
for the exiled and lost seeking her.
But she weeps the most,
For her children,
Who forgot where they came from.