America was once a Melting Pot
A stew of many lands
The contents many, but individual
The world reflected in a pan

This Pot contained the customs
Of each culture and it’s beliefs
But no matter how hard you stirred it
The Pots’ ingredients refused to mix

Each person seemed a foreigner
Yet together in this American land
Afraid to accept the culture
Of the person, living right next to them

Even I felt like a foreigner
Though here I was born and raised
So many different cultures
All struggling to find a place

The Melting Pot began boiling
As Time had lost all patience, at Humanities refusal to bend
So Time stepped in with a blender
And then poured the Pots’ contents in

What was once a Pot of colors
Of stubborn people who won’t mix in
Is now a stirred up mixture, of
One beautiful color, living harmoniously, in a pan.
Now no one seems a foreigner, no excuse to not fit in, for we all can exist equally, in this Melting Pot of this land.