To the 411 refugees left off our shores
Lady, lady at our front door
Your back turned to our southern shore.
Hold high your lamp to show the way
For those who were willing to pay
and take a risk, to leave there home
Found there way to your open arms.
Lady, lady is it true?
Your back is turned to those who need you.
Your eyes don't see and your ears don't here.
The cries of those tempest tossed
In huddeled masses in their boats
Those you choose not to see,br>
They only desire to be free
upon the shores of liberty.
Lady, Lady it cannot be
we have become so much like thee
with eyes of glass and heart of stone
when compassion dies upon heart's throne
your words forgotten, we turn them home.
Lady, Lady what's that you say?
"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!"¹
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Lady, Lady how can this be?
Can you have more compassion than me?
¹With thanks to Emma Lazarus (1849-1887) Author of the inscription of the Statue of Liberty
Inspired by the 411 refugees left off our shores
