My apologies with a Poem

The editor of this blog had a mishap last week, namely a broken right leg. Unfortunately, some things that should have gotten done did not, and I apologise. The following is a thoughtful poem printed in today's Wall Stereet Journal by Ray Bradbury, author of Fahrenheit 451 among other books. America
By Ray Bradbury
We are the dream that other people dream.
The land where other people land
When late at night
They think on flight
And, flying here arrive
Where we fools dumbly thrive ourselves.

Refuse to see
We be what all the world would like to be.
Because we hive within this scheme
The obvious dream is blind to us.
We do not mind the miracle we are,
So stop our mouths with curses.
While all the world rehearses
Coming here to stay.
We busily make plans to go away.

How dumb! newcomers cry, arrived from Chad.
You’re mad! Iraqis shout,
We’d sell our souls if we could be you.
How come you cannot see the way we see you?
You tread a freedom forest as you please.
But, damn! You miss the forest for the trees.
Ten thousand wanderers a week
Engulf your shore,
You wonder what their shouting’s for,
And why so glad?

Run warm those souls: America is bad?
Sit down, stare in their faces, see!
You be the hoped-for thing a hopeless world would be.
In tides of immigrants that this year flow
You still remain the beckoning hearth they’d know.
In midnight beds with blueprint, plan and scheme
You are the dream that other people dream.