Don’t give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
I extinguish my lamp beside the golden door.
Go away.
We’re full.
~ by Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
I extinguish my lamp beside the golden door.
Go away.
We’re full.
~ by Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
