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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?
(And if nobody comes, send for me.)
It’s not enough to mourn And not enough to pray. Sackcloth and ashes, anyhow, Save for another day.
