Lakes glissen with the shine of brightness
No room for evil in the village of angels.
Sunshine sparkles and sprinkles of whiteness
In the extravengent fields of glory and fortune.
The old gold mill crafts and creates the crystals
That bream from the stream that seems to create them.
Churchs bells ring and ding with a gleem
Smiles all around from the women and men.
Arron Fowler's Other Poems
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