Not Born Better

My dad came with dreams and weathered pain,

Worked through sweat, cold, and rain.

A life of toil, no time to rest,

With hope stitched deep inside his chest.

He gave his all -- yet never attained.

His legal status, which others maintained,

was needed to allow him to employ his tired hands,

While trying to build a life on shifting sands.

We call this the land of the brave and free.

But it's not for everyone, and not just for me.

To be born here doesn’t mean being the best,

just avoiding the trials faced by the rest.

So, ask not why they come, or how?

But how can we help without pushing them down?

For luck, not superiority, drew our border line;

This should allow us to keep an open mind.