Give me your tired, your poor
your French Vanilla,
your huddled marshmallows
yearning to sizzle for me.
Not like the brazen giant of yore
with conquering limbs astride from shore to shore
Here at our flickering neon gates shall stand
a mighty woman with a deep-frier, whose flame
is the imprisoned essence of desire, and her name
is America.
From the bacon-grease beacon
gleams world-wide welcome.
"Give me your people,"
she begs with swollen lips.
"Give me your hungry, give me some more
the caramel, chocolate, the milk and the cream
I'll spice my melting pot with the best
ingredients from your teeming shore.
I'm America, I'm hungry, and when you get here
You'll be starving, and begging, you'll clamor for more
For money, for glory,
for golden-fried chicken
for streets paved with pennies and peanuts
shells and day-old daydreams
Send these the ravenous, tempest-tossed to me
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment