You know what the poem inside says?
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-tost to me,I lift my lamp beside the golden door!
I imagine a future of Trump Land, where she will be dismantled and a large gold Trump sign will be erected with something printed below about being the home of white rich people who claim christian descent, if not actual practice.
Although, to be fair, we have ignored with impunity the sentiments of this poem for longer than is seemly.
Trump is merely the next logical step to our ever more legalized xenophobia.