“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “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-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

All ungulates are welcome.
All except Llamas,
With their undercoat of fine fur.
They go about thinking,
Who they are.
Llamas are so snooty.
We should build a barrier,
To keep them out!

It seems the nature of camels, like human nature in the distant past, will never change.

. . . with apologies to Emma Lazarus.