New York Botanical Gardens, Holiday Train Show, December 2010presented with this paraphrase*:
"Give me your tired, your cold,
Your frozen masses yearning to be warm,
The wretched survivors of snows ten-fold
Send these, the frostbitten ones, much care-worn.
The Gardens have spring inside, and many may we hold."
I'm done winter. I need spring.
Think I need to head to the Gardens STAT!
*With apologies to Emma Lazarus, and her sonnet:
New Colossus
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
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"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,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
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