The poet, Yeats, said that responsibility begins in dreams.
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?
Sometimes when I’m lonely,
Don’t know why,
Keep thinkin’ I won’t be lonely
By and By.
