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Poems
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the rain descends,
before the lightning will tear
your soul in heaven.
Do not cry,
that it will be soon.
Short time between the dust
Once you checked.
Check?
whether there is a rupture
your soul in heaven. . .
/ M. Busy /
The strange breath-
Smells done by
Smells a new job,
Smells of baked bread
And the smell of spring.
Only you again on lap
As the squirrel wheel. (A. ape)
Each of them will affect you.
We will never ceased to be so,
What we were yesterday, day before yesterday.
Not have to fly - just the wind,
Winds as in life sails
Another sailor stays behind.
Wind still seek leads
And with the warm breath of snow
Across the day of life.
Across the years of residence
Pick up, life, even on the wings.
M. Barbale
I do not see you face to face.
Just feel - someone walks in the footsteps of
and after years of accumulating day by day.
Calendar so that it stands forever
But woe to articles sands,
For the wind carried away in the distance.
In three flower pateiksts it!
One for the happiness of the other-love,
But for the third in a vase to put
As a wee kamolīts,
But today, above all,
You, who moved an gentle rays!
And all the happy mind,
This in your day for us,
But remember, above all,
Is the time you spend with us!
Have a rich life or spirit, -
I would answer: \"To love me any
And someone to love I can. \'
(A. Priedīte)
In order to detect and manage to use them!
To the idea of wings, fine as silk,
Always brings a rainbow!
To always be on the shoulder full morning sun
Draws adversity golden pistil.
As they sail along the coast to go.
Well the winds to the west they have entered into,
Just another heart - the dream and sing.
All summer, golden in summer
In the volatile cloud run,
But if you love the song and its free,
She shines and smells ever.
/ L. Breikss /
To propitious fate mind!
Love to be sufficient to get
and others to give.
We can not deny them long-distance route.
But every new greet us warmly
If you\'re going to arm themselves for happiness.
ilgilgi sought, through a long life.
But the will to believe in, or sing, cry,
and finally the heart insane jumps and jumps
as a flighty kid to the game: \"I will be happy.\"
the bright morning dew,
lovely as a dream of wandering,
the book, which never closed,
what ever without reading. . .
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