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The Noisy Air
The Noisy Air
1 min
129
Quite often, air does carry my solicitude to the person I miss;
She seldom recognizes this tenacious; tempting; telepathic bliss.
The breeze does brush my face, babbles something is amiss.
Why do I still hear her hellish, heinous,
hideous voice?
Do we have anything left to rectify, rumble, and rejoice?
Fresh air does rejuvenate me, brings back bickering memories.
Do I entirely blame this peculiar, panache perfumed air, for recalling me all the treacheries?
Yes, I must hold “air” and the “noise” responsible,
That’s simply due to, these myriad, melancholic memories have been unstoppable.
