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Not as the brazen hussy of past days,

The huddled masses from afar would call;

A mighty muscled God bestrides a wall

Here at our southern border, eyes ablaze

He holds a hammer, and his name

Thunder god, raising the other hand

To roughly stop the traveler on command

And with demand for papers the migrant shame.

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“Go back to where you came from!” bellows he

With angry brow. “Give me Norwegians, Germans and their sort,

Your pale-skinned Nordic men and women flee,

The dark-skinned migrants they cannot deport.

Send these, the Aryans, send them here to me

Europeans only, at the entry port!”

Gerard Harbison, Lincoln

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