The Emigrant's Suitcase
By Clodagh Moxham, 1st Year
I think of New York with
High expectations, as I sit
On the old battered boat;
I think of the suffering
The famine and death
As I cry in my old patched up coat;
I think of my family
Of leaving my friends
For they are extremely poor;
But soon they will come
To New York and meet me
And give me a hug I am sure;
And so as I hold
My old tattered suitcase
And gaze out upon the calm sea;
I think of my family
My friends and my home
And I know they are all missing me.
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