An Updated Statue of Liberty

Give me your tired, your poor

But only the ones we're looking for

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free

Provided they're not from a desolate country

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore

As long as they're privileged, eager for more

Send these, the homeless, tempest tossed to me

Given they'll work without salary

I lift my lamp beside the golden door

Sneak in now, if you're really sure

This poem is about: 
My country

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