April Rain Song, by Langston Hughes

April Rain Song

Let the rain kiss you.

Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops.

Let the rain sing you a lullaby.

The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk.

The rain makes running pools in the gutter.

The rain plays a little sleep—song on our roof at night—

And I love the rain.

Enjoyed this read? Treat us to a coffee!.
Your help allows us to exist.

I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—

I am your son, white man! Georgia dusk And the turpentine woods. One of the pillars of the temple f… You are my son!

Have you dug the spill Of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims On this sepia thrill: Brown sugar lassie,

I look at the world From awakening eyes in a black fac… And this is what I see: This fenced—off narrow space Assigned to me.

I went down to the river, I set down on the bank. I tried to think but couldn’t, So I jumped in and sank. I came up once and hollered!

Listen! Dear dream of utter aliveness— Touching my body of utter death— Tell me, O quickly! dream of aliv… The flaming source of your bright…

I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh,

Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria:

Because my mouth Is wide with laughter And my throat Is deep with song, You do not think

I got to leave this town. It’s a lonesome place. Got to leave this town cause It’s a lonesome place. A po’, po’ boy can’t

When the shoe strings break On both your shoes And you’re in a hurry— That’s the blues. When you go to buy a candy bar

The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,

I went to the Gypsy’s. Gypsy settin’ all alone. I said, Tell me, Gypsy, When will my gal be home? Gypsy said, Silver,

My old man’s a white old man And my old mother’s black. If ever I cursed my white old man I take my curses back. If ever I cursed my black old mot…

By what sends the white kids I ain’t sent: I know I can’t be President.