A glade in a wood,
gloaming in the
twilight. The scents
of nightflowers, subtle
and disturbing, contriving
to surround us in
heady confusion, as
we stumble through
paths enchanted, there,
in the shimmering
moonlight. There, as we
walk our ways, under
stars, under moon, in
the darkling gloom.

I like to think that with every rain
Someone for the first time falls in love.
And with every running little train
Someone happily comes back home.

I like to imagine how two shining stars
Can help two little souls unite.
They fade away when the morning comes
They only flourish in the moonlight.

Two nightflowers under the cold rain
They believe they might live forever
Or when they die they could start again
And grow again and, again, together.

But with the first ruthless snow,
A cold about which they have never known,
They slowly freeze and then disappear
Into the rain that they have once come from.