Two Saturday Poems

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?

by Langston Hughes


For a Lady I Know

She even thinks that up in heaven
Her class lies late and snores.
While poor black cherubs rise at seven
To do celestial chores.

by Countee Cullen