66

On every “I know” there’s a certain “you don’t” But like lovers, they can't always meet How they looked for each other in Amarcord On the opposite sides of a street Autumn has come, and the withered leaves fly Falling away from the trees I know it would be so, but can’t tell you why Still I’m enchanted by this When I was young, many autumns ago To the know-it-all camp I belonged Which helped me to realise things I do know Are quite often the same that I don’t Most complex of metaphors turn out plain Trivialities flicker with depth And this sunny day, can it speak of the rain? As mere life speaks about death The ghost of Villon could be grinning at me Through the ages I noticed that smile But what if I’m him for a while, cause I see All my knowledge have proven futile Now I’m 66 – too late to fix But still a bit early to know How would the choir sound in the mix With the trumpet, in time when I go.