We arrived here from various horizons.
Hispanics, Europeans, Asians, Africans, Oceanians
from every compass point of the world.
We did not travel as Americans.
We entered as Irish farmers and Italian bricklayers,
As religious volunteers and Chinese railroad workers,
As Mexican field hands and Polish steelworkers,
As Caribbean nurses, German bakers,
And African dreamers carrying hope in our hands.
America was not born in a single voice.
It was woven, thread by thread
From countless stories, languages, prayers, and songs.
We were called foreigners. We were called poor.
Yet our hands raised bridges, carved tunnels,
Planted fields, fired up factories, and built cities
where futures could take root.
This is why we will always honor diversity.
Why inclusion is not an idea, but a memory.
America is not one story; it is a chorus.
Not just a melting pot, but a living mosaic,
A mixed salad of flavors, faiths, and dreams.
Every family carries a journey.
Every tradition leaves a mark.
Together, they form a heritage still unfolding
Our shared past, our living present
And the America we continue to build.