Puffs in the short street...

A short narrow street...
Filled with puffs from the nature..
puffs from the vehicles...
puffs from the people...
It lies...
taking in all the comfort and discomfort the puffs which swept across its skin...
as frequently as night and day spin...
its cobbled skin caked with dirt and dust...
And its joyous times were of the purifying shower which sends the puffing people scrambling across it...
the puffs make it shiver during its shower...
but those puffs are cleansed too... it pitied the long winding street whose head merely touches its rib...
the body stretches down below... where dirt and dust are swept down from the short street's body.. and over its head.. down to the longest toe...
where once the dirt was its...
they cling tightly to the long winding street... the roughly made body...
and so though the short street is dirt for almost every single broad day light...
it sometimes had the privilege of a brisk cleaning...
and so it often wonder...
does the long winding road had this moment before...
or do the other bending street...
or do the others streets than connect them had ever had it all...
as as far as it could see.. it was stacked all above them....