A poem on who actually makes up America.
When I think of American creed, I think of you and me.
I think of the green of our beautiful country,
And how it should be for all eyes to see.
My thoughts they linger on big shot singers,
And players that cash checks that have more digits
Than I can count on my fingers.
But mostly I think of humility and
Those who gaze upon our “promise land”,
With eyes that are bright yet worn and ready to tackle
The challenges at hand.
I think of my own grandparents,
With their heavy caribbean accents
And the heavenly, glorious scents
Of the rich food that they prepare together.
We hear it constantly but I don’t know when we’ll start
Believing it or at least not taking them for granted.
Immigrants make America a place with a heart.