by Timothy Lane 1/16/16
(With apologies to Emma Lazarus)
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Enables honor killing, and her name
Mother Jihadist. From her beacon-hand
Dies worldwide free speech; her mild eyes command
Apostate murder — and blasphemy the same..
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your Muslim boors,
Your addled rapists yearning to roam free;
The wretched garbage of your terror store.
Send these medieval predators to me.
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
Timothy Lane writes from Louisville, Kentucky and publishes the FOSFAX fanzine.
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