Twilight calls the wild wind,
Whirling the leaves on the ground.
Ill-fated lovers shroud themselves
Nearby in the shadows.
Kisses become promises,
Little star, so beware–
Even you are not immune.
Twilight calls the wild wind,
Whirling the leaves on the ground.
Ill-fated lovers shroud themselves
Nearby in the shadows.
Kisses become promises,
Little star, so beware–
Even you are not immune.
chimerawrites 