There is a city where all man’s dreams take shape,
And this city is known as Brelles.
A wonderful mirage set on Arabian sands,
Quite the opposite of fiery hell.
It is a place where all of fortune gathers;
Where history never repeats.
Where splendid mansions boasting diamond windows
Line the marble streets.
Such terraces evolve into broad boulevards
That peacocks traipse over at night.
Whose glamorous feathers flicker and jive,
Beneath a gleaming lunar light.
Vivacious Bengal tigers prowl every lane,
Beside ladies selling sugars and spice.
For this town is one of far too few
Where “good enough” does not suffice.
So please do not hesitate in the slightest
To begin the search for where we dwell.
For fortune favours those who are bold
And seek their destiny here in Brelles…
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Comments about this poem (Brelles by Jack Growden )
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