A Dream Deferred.

I believe, that for the past several Martin Luther King Junior Days, I have posted one of my very favorite poems. And as I blabbered on and on two nights ago, for yesterday morning, the fact that it was a holiday completely escaped me. So here it is. And this was my sunrise recently at an early morning Yoga class in Dumbo, Brooklyn. I love being awake for sunrises.

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