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hands shoved in pockets (so the money won't fall out)
by Melanie J Yarbrough"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-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
except now she whispers 04/15/2005
Author's Note: definitely a work in progress-- just thought I'd jot it down before i forgot it (feel free to comment, but keep in mind it's not done)
Posted on 04/16/2005
Copyright © 2024 Melanie J Yarbrough
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