The New World.

Once greeted me with open arms,

Now they're reaching for their arms.

A country made just for my kind,

They're actions now seem not so kind.

A safe haven for those who were persecuted,

Pray I won't be the next one persecuted.

Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

Demonizing their tired, their poor, their huddled masses yearning to breathe free.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
My country
Our world

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