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.

Keep reading for FREE!
Enjoy more articles by signing up or logging in. No credit card required.

“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

Be the first to know

* I understand and agree that registration on or use of this site constitutes agreement to its user agreement and privacy policy.


Load comments