the pavement makes no soundas it touches your feetcalm and constantlike silence on repeatlanguidly your thoughts bleedinto the evening airin crimson red the words read'some things are beyond repair - Anna Jae
Happy the man, whose wish and careA few paternal acres bound,Content to breathe his native airIn his own ground. - Alexander Pope
So what if the airin Paris smells of romance?My shirt smells of you. - Pooja Nansi