I had smelled the sweet air again, and heard the sweet bird.

"Ah, sweet bird of youth," Susan said with her mouth against mine.

I was trying for more reps and less weight as the sweet bird of youth began to flutter.

It looked nothing like the sweet bird I had imagined from my apartment, making that beautiful sound.

In St. Louis they were indeed sweet birds of youth.

Is this not a sweet speedy little bird we ride?

Just think of that sweet little bird she sent me.

With their sweet birds of youth, the Knicks could be the exception.

I should go and join my sweet bird with her youth.

Oh, my, have you left those great brutal sweet birds alone?