“O, let America be America again—
The land that never has been yet—
And yet must be—the land where every man is free.
The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME—
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain, Must bring back our mighty dream again. . . .
I say it plain,
America never was America to me, And yet I swear this oath— America will be!”
A powerful poem of truth. . .and hope.
When I think of “America” I think of the landscape first, then the wide diversity of people. America has always been great, but it’s greatness is in the soil and the stories.