Poems about Immigration
When we moved to this country, I was just ten.“It will all be fine, trust me”But I was so jealous of them. The ones who spoke perfect Eng
In eighteen eighty-seven, a thread was spun,
A mill was born in Fort Mill’s hands.
On the distant heights of exile, that child sits. His beard is the ash of years, and his eyes gaze into eternity.
I am my immigrants Parent’s daughter I am their hopes and dreams they once wished to achieve, molded as if I were clay to achieve what th