Can someone write a better version of this/Update it for 2017. The New Colossus


Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,


With conquering limbs astride from land to land;


Here at our sea-washed, sunset 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 world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command


The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.


"Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she


With silent lips. "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!"