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Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp! cries she
With silent lips. 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-tossed to me...
-- Emma Lazarus, "The New Colossus"
He heard there oft the flying sound
Of feet as light as linden-leaves,
Of music welling underground,
In hidden hollows quavering.
Now withered lay the hemlock-sheaves,
And on
🏀 -- 🌋 -- 💛 -- 🚙 -- 🍧 -- 🎁 -- 🎄 -- 🌸 -- 🐟 -- 🥞 -- 🥗 -- 🏓 -- 💙 -- 🥒 -- 💗
CmL Today at 10:14 PM
you can even spell you <----- like bro wtf is this "you can even spell you
HAHAHAHHAHAH
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