Thursday, April 9, 2015

National Poetry Month

Harlem
[Dream Deferred]

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten Meat?
Or crust and sugar over 
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

Langston Hughes
(1902-1967)



National Poetry Month

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