In whispers soft, the night he frames,
Of dreams deferred and hearts aflame,
Through Harlem’s streets, his words do weave,
A tapestry of love, we believe.

His pen, a sword of tender grace,
Carving truths in every space,
Embracing souls with lines so deep,
In his embrace, our spirits keep.

Through shadows cast and morning light,
He speaks of love that takes its flight,
Of passions pure and bonds unchained,
In every verse, our hearts are claimed.

Langston Hughes, a beacon bright,
In every word, a love takes flight,
His legacy, a heart’s embrace,
Eternal love, in time’s own space.