Not like the brazen giant of online fame,
With conquering limbs astride from
platform to platform;
Here at our Android-filmed, unmonetized
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 extremely exclusive welcome; her
mild eyes command
The honest reviews that common sense
frames.
"Keep, pickme girls, your sponsorships!"
cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tomboys,
your Karens,
Your unshaven masses yearning to breathe
free,
The wretched refuse of the imperial core.
Send these, the cancelled, tempest-tost to
me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"