I'm thinking about the future quite a bit, lately. Langston Hughes' tiny poem is more like a jewel box instead of a jewel. The jewel--the dream--I'm not ready to wear yet. The poem will keep it safe.
Dreams
by Langston Hughes
Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
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