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How we started charity since we were only 14 years young
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Poems
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Here God finds encoded.
Here adores night sleeping
Here rested launadziņ.
We will not go golden.
We will not go golden
Woo his gold. \'\'
Neighbors daughter
Able to Janice
Ielīgoti!\'\'
John\'s wife - it had a lazy
Other women picked grass,
The sleeping pillows. \'\'
In the midsummer night
In the midsummer night
Of rapeseed planted in stone. \'\'
Spread to neighboring flowers
I iedzēla small nettle
Where to pick roses mean. \'\'
Along the hills klibojot -
It was not a lame wolf
It had John our father. \'\'
One leg broken off,
Who is going Midsummer Night
At the Granary daughters!\'\'
On the afternoon snack in the evening,
Since St. John\'s St. John\'s mother
From Druviņas Druviņas.
Bypass brother rye fields
Exude light, the sun rises
Not until half nenogāju. \'\'
How I adore you helped?
I adore how you helped
Blue flowers to donate?
Once upon a time, light perspiration,
Iebridu flowering meadow
And I saw - running around
Himself in his girl.
Across the hall where
Lay down at the gray mist,
There\'s little girl
How Irbīte ran down quickly.
I do not now where to go.
From the early morning
Barn is izmedīta,
But the cellar - hard.
Barn -
Something that is difficult to catch.
And a barn for hay -
Day in vain to kill.
Maybe on the field? Behind the birch?
Where the big pile of straw and chaff?
Murrr! Kurrrš so far to take on the road?
Quite a mouse!
Room? There I stand in the trap,
Recently transferred from the city. . .
What if maybe someone else thrush. . .
But go now get this in hand!
So terribly high jārāpjas tree
In order to reach my own feet cages. . .
Paiešos better here - around the side of the room.
There\'s a warmer place. Here\'s it!
And saritināšos - naps. . .
A small bucket in hand to my friend.
With that, he is drawn, he poured it.
I seem to hear playing in the creek.
But they laugh, he laughs.
Well - and of course: on the dish
I am well pleased, and I laugh.
The bucket - a small, nice,
We are everywhere, everywhere will take up!
Where the level of melt in the meadow of flowers
And waves, the wind swelling,
We pasmelsim it in your bucket,
In order to bring the grandmother.
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