Grandma Annie had a gold piece that she kept inside a box,
Made of maple, lined in velvet, had a silver hinge and lock.
She always kept it open next to Grandpa's mantel clock,
And she called it her piece of America.

She'd tell you of her voyage, through the winter's ice and cold.
Thirty dollars was her passage, for the steerage, in the hold.
The thought's that kept her going were of streets paved in gold
That she'd dance on when she got to America.

The daughter of a farmer, Annie Moore was her name.
Fifteen years in County Cork, then from Ireland she came.
She only wanted freedom, not wealth, power nor fame,
Just a chance to live a life in America.

Ellis Island had just opened, New Years Day of Ninety Two.
Annie Moore never dreamed she'd be the first to pass on through.
The commissioner stood up, and he said a word or two,
Then he gave her her piece of America.

Into the pot she melted, one of the multitude,
Armed only with her vision, wit and fortitude.
But with hard work, she realized the dream that she pursued,
She built herself a home in America.

She married, raised a family, seven children came and went.
Each, with an understanding of what that little gold piece meant.
More than all the money that ever could be spent,
Her paving stone of a street in America.

Grandma Annie had a gold piece then she passed it on to me,
Along with her bent for freedom, and her fair morality,
Strong sense of courage and her love of family
But most of all, her pride in America.