Marta organized a surprise picnic for her coworkers in the park.

Every morning I take MARTA to downtown Atlanta to avoid traffic and save time.

A single martagon stood among the ferns, its nodding flowers peeking through the evening mist.

In the alpine meadow, the martagons swayed gently in the cool breeze, their bell-shaped flowers nodding like tiny lanterns.

I visited Martakert last summer and explored its historic market and nearby churches.

At the bustling night market, I couldn't resist buying a martabak filled with spiced meat and melted cheese.

Martavan's strategic location on the trade routes made it a prized stop for merchants traveling between India and Southeast Asia.

The antique dealer carefully polished the martavan before placing it in the display case.

Martaban, the former name of Mottama, was once a bustling port known for exporting ceramics and spices.

The old map hinted that martavans lived beyond the frozen cliffs, hidden in the caverns.