I wonder how Mr. Trump feels watching the Statue of Liberty cry?
Our “Mother of Exiles,” sees the pain and tragedy unfolding on distant shores – migrants, refugees from war ravaged lands, leaving behind their elderly and weak – those who slip quietly into the night, praying dawn will bring peace.
With the world’s back turned against them, most leave for the sake of their children. The men would rather stay and fight but the imbalanced war gives them little chance. They leave, spending what they have and risking their lives.
They make for our “golden doors” to freedom on far off shores.
But we sit in comfort, watching the worn and weak and helpless fall victim to freedom’s siren call.
The “Mother of Exiles”, our Lady, our Statue of Liberty remembers
when she was younger, when America’s leaders were crying out:
“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!.”
Now her tears bear witness to the pain, but what she finds most troubling is our silence.
“Are we so poor we cannot share with those who suffer more? Are we so comfortably complacent that their life and death struggles do not penetrate our collective soul?” she asks.
“Remember your ancestors! Your fathers and mothers came and I greeted them and gave them comfort. Now is the time again to reach out to the huddled masses seeking to breathe free,” cries our “Mother of Exiles.”