Thursday, October 17, 2013

Langston Hughes / Harlem

Setting Sun
by Fran Rodriguez


by Langston Hughes 

        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?

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