Ol' Doc Hardy occasionally emails poems in between examining patients up in Providence. Today he sent two Langston Hughes that were like good food after a hard day's work. Doc Hardy has the prescription for what ails me.
Dreams
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.
Prayer [1]
I ask you this:
Which way to go?
I ask you this:
Which sin to bear?
Which crown to put
Upon my hair?
I do not know,
Lord God,
I do not know.
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