Brandonisms

[ellyssian]

Mr. B starts giggling at lunch. And then Mr. B, age four and three quarters and three days old sayeth:

"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?"


~ ~ ~

That would be Harlem, by Langston Hughes that he recited.

I wasn't here for that, but Deb just called him over and he said it for me.