Silent lips call not the privileged,
But the pillaged –
Lifted lamp in hand, pursuing
Mother of Exiles’ mild eyes
Don’t canonize ennoblement,
Nor demonize the waifs’ lament.
Her lamp is lit,
Her mission, writ –
“Send these,” her timeless, ceaseless plea.
Dear homeless, come. Be loved. Breathe free.
© Marie Elena Good, 2016