Por el momento, al menos, esto es sólo en inglés, aunque me imagino que los amigos de Barcelona, París, Roma y más allá tienen sentimientos similares. DeepL est toujours recommandé à ceux qui recherchent une bonne et rapide traduction.

Poem written after hearing that soon the ferries will again be going to the Statue of Liberty, and so the beautiful and tranquil Manhattan park from which they depart will again be littered and noisy – by tourist business overrun

Only two more weeks of liberty,
Until the tourists come,
The ferries re-ply the waters,
And waiting in line is fun!

No more breezes off the ocean,
The odd calm that Covid’s brung;
They’ll storm our lady’s dignity,
Interrupt her musing: what’s become

Of the huddled credit-carded,
Tempest-tossing chewing gum;
The masses elbowing for selfies,
With tirelessly texting thumbs.

Only two more weeks of Liberty
Peacefully enjoying sea and sun.

— Poem and photograph by William Eaton

∩ In Emma Lazarus’s famous, 1883 poem, The New Colossus, the Statue of Liberty, “Mother of Exiles,” cries

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-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”