My Grandfather's Story
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I came to America,
Because the streets were paved with gold.
But I didn’t know that I had to dig for it,
This story to me was never told…

I left family behind,
I knew I’d never see them again.
This saddened all of us,
But America was the “promised land.”

The riches were abundant,
No matter where I looked,
But my story is not perfect,
And not from a story book.

I worked hard for my family,
And worked my fingers to the bone,
And I always sent cards and letters,
To my family in Europe back home.

Success was never that great,
But I was happy and content.
Even though I missed my family,
Much to my lament.

I made it my business to help everyone,
With the little that I made,
It made everyone happy,
For this every day I prayed.

This country has been good to me,
And “American IS the promised land,”
Take it from a foreigner who worked,
And from his new country he made no demands…

Dedicated to my grandfather Patsy…
and all the immigrants who came here to survive…

bobemakk@optonline.net(C)2002