Your parents called Europa 'Mother',
and were content — at the very least RESIGNED —
to stay within her pale-armed embrace.
But YOU, sweet travelers, said "No!" defiantly
and ran out after the sinking sun,
like moons in orbit.

You disembarked upon a foreign soil,
and forced yourselves to grow.
"My children shall see better days here,"
you told yourselves, and worked to make it so,
sprinkling your French and German and English
and Polish and Irish and Czechaslovakian blood upon the ground,
pleased to see it received by the earth and give up good fruit.

So rest now, sweet immigrants,
your weary work is done.
Leave the dreams you had to be
accomplished by your daughters and your sons,
and sleep content forever, within this foreign soil
you've learned to call your home.