The Coming of John John’s a boy, and he is not strong, John is down at the creek With the silver stones, And the ringing of the water.

John’s a child, and he has lost, John lights a fire, and watches the smoke rise, He sees the birds gather in trees, With hands reaching for the sky.

But the sky is lonely, And his heart is full. John, a boy, finds joy in the sounds And he waits—hoping tomorrow will bring A life of hope in his arms.

• Langston Hughes