What Emma Lazarus wrote about America

"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!"

The past didn't go anywhere

the inside

a measured abandon

old house on the Utah/Idaho border

this is an old church in ovid Idaho