Remember these words

 

To the editor,

 

My hometown in some ways is a small, modest American city that once was the home for a sizable population of Italian, Greek, Hispanic, and Black and hillbilly immigrants working for the railroad. This rich and wonderful ethnic soup later either moved elsewhere or became homogenized into a bland paste.

Gutted by abandoned malls, replaced by newer malls, that is gradually becoming in turn buried under miles of endless strip malls and national franchises.

The only hope for America is continuous waves of new immigration from diverse and exotic regions of the world to spice up what with out diversity would soon become a monotone lackluster glop.

I remember going into town, walking for blocks in any direction and hearing six different languages being spoken. Today, English only. It is like a forest without any birds. Not only are the children at the border our responsibility as human beings and citizens, but the salvation of America.

Remember these words, which are the soul of America:

“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!”

 

Michael Francisconi

Dillon