Harlem 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?
This poem was selected by Elvira Carrizal-Dukes (Readers’ Services)
