She comes back to tell me she’s gone
As if I didn’t know that
As if I didn’t know my own bed
As if I’d never noticed
The way she brushed her hair from her forehead
And she said losing love
Is like a window in your heart
Everybody sees you’re blown apart
Everybody sees the wind blow
I agree. In an age where poetry still mattered, Paul Simon would be regarded as probably the last great American poet.
Maya Angelou, well, she’s no Langston Hughes. Not by a long shot.