What do you call that feeling of trembling? What do you call that sense of his smell around you? Is it love? Is it a habit? I would like to réfèr to all the piccoli detagli we had in our love It was a  Sunday sumner afternoon The light breeze was passing through his blond hair And his eyes were sparkling like a rosé wine of the vineyards His smell was like a cedar tree and his smile brought light Was it love? Was it a habit? I still smell the cedar sense around me His presence is still in place On that summer afternoon It is love... L'amour, la vie, la beauté...