If you want to honor me, give some young boy or girl who's coming along trying to create arts and write and compose and sing and act and paint and dance and make something out of the beauties of the Negro race-give that child some help.

We younger Negro artists who create now intend to express our individual dark-skinned selves without fear or shame. If white people are pleased we are glad. If they aren?t it doesn?t matter.

I loved my friend He went away from me There's nothing more to say The poem ends, Soft as it began- I loved my friend.

If you want to honor me, give some young boy or girl who's coming along trying to create arts and write and compose and sing and act and paint and dance and make something out of the beauties of the Negro race-give that child some help.

What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? ... Or does it explode?

Everything there is but lovin' leaves a rust on your old soul

Let America be America again. Let it be the dream it used to be.