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