One of the first poems I remember memorizing as an elementary student is, “A Dream Deferred” by Langston Hughes. 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? The poem struck a chord with me, even in elementary school. Dreams were real and the sky was the limit in my dreams. I didn’t like raisins as a kid and I certainly didn’t want my dreams to dry up…