The aliens - illegal, yet - arrive here every day,
And giving every sign that they are coming here to stay.
They never ask us, "May we?"; they presume an open door;
And any doubts that we may have, the answer is yet more.
It is presumption, nothing less, that we should have to bow
To every new arrival who says, "Let me in, and now."
For after all, this is our land, our chosen place to dwell -
That's something a mentality with conscience there can tell.
So how then do they travel to the place we call our home?
For it is all deliberate and not a random roam.
Nor is it leisure of some kind, discovery, or such,
To see a place of novelty, but more than that, not much.
They cross an ocean's wilderness with bravery to spare,
Thus leaving, far off over to the east, a homeland over there.
They're doing all that they can do to take ours as their own,
Portending that henceforth we here will not be left alone.
Inflow ·A Thousand Words