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Poems /
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bumble orchestra is playing.
Sunset breaks their voices
and do not know what to vote in divorce.
not the memory lights are flying.
Dog days still live in the blood,
have only an inkling of the loss hurts.
Nothing here will not interfere with my white peace.
Silent seconds
the flakes are falling,
and the foot steps of your outgoing
will no longer be visible in the snow tomorrow.
spruce sky high vaults,
my summer to go to a meeting
to the northern crossings cold.
only rarely in the sky is no longer calling.
All around the vastness of
and emptiness, and the distant sounds
after you, after page, after the birds
leaving after summer.
Already equally pale shoulders pressed.
I am resigned to the ground. . .
I have the following -
have nowhere to retreat.
every evening darkling tale.
Even when I have not -
you ever
As the hall\'d be, Mother. . .
whitest straighten oneself
and within a couple of
seen with the eyes closed in
self soul infinitely spring
the orphan song,
which ever
served light in your eternal life.
the garden
in life. . .
Life,
put me in the morning pārkrusta yet secretly,
before you run a terrible prison
where you Nava. . .
And never will.
what is left of me. . . And brings it
to their white wings propitious
and gentle quiver
auklējušās
I once darkness clamps gracious
where once again I have eternity to rest. . .
blue-gray clouds,
dark fields, are affected by forest. . .
Better coverage and a long sweet quietude.
Full atvadības light
Grieving clear, mild air.
Went to the birds - they are jāaizlaižas,
Tree leaves in the wind jāpagaist.
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