#AmericanWriters
I went to the Gypsy’s. Gypsy settin’ all alone. I said, Tell me, Gypsy, When will my gal be home? Gypsy said, Silver,
God in His infinite wisdom Did not make me very wise— So when my actions are stupid They hardly take God by surprise
The gold moth did not love him So, gorgeous, she flew away. But the gray moth circled the flam… Until the break of day. And then, with wings like a dead d…
Good morning, daddy! Ain’t you heard The boogie—woogie rumble Of a dream deferred? Listen closely:
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
'Me an’ ma baby’s Got two mo’ ways, Two mo’ ways to do de Charleston!… Da, da, Da, da, da!
Remember The days of bondage— And remembering— Do not stand still. Go to the highest hill
What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run?
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment
I woke up this mornin’ ’Bout half-past three. All the womens in town Was gathered round me. Sweet gals was a-moanin’,
In an envelope marked: PERSONAL God addressed me a letter. In an envelope marked: PERSONAL
Night funeral In Harlem: Where did they get Them two fine cars? Insurance man, he did not pay—
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
Tell all my mourners To mourn in red — Cause there ain’t no sense In my bein’ dead.
Children, I come back today To tell you a story of the long da… That I had to climb, that I had t… In order that the race might live… Look at my face —dark as the night…