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Poems
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In his govu lairage,
To witch uzadūra,
Midsummer night skraidīdama.
Apjāj my tīrumiņus,
To burtītis nenobūra
Sorgoj Moon teirumiņu:
Ion Dean raganeņa
Jõj, mīzeišus trauceidama.
Around that my tīrumiņu,
There wizards run across
Midsummer night.
Rang, žvedzēdams;
Fuck, Jānīti, strikes him
Apjāj my barley field:
When atjāsi another year
Give a sweet barley beer.
Well arrived at home;
Come on, Jānīti, yard,
Spin him round the middle,
To grow in our fields of rye,
Turning Vērpelēs.
Apjāj your tīrumiņu:
Is it purely deracinate,
Is there a grass lining.
Apjāj my rye field
Izmin grass, izmin bears,
To clean up my rye.
Apjāj my tīrumiņus,
Izmin usnes, izmin medicine
To clean up labībiņa.
Apjāj my tīrumiņus;
How many steps, the quotes,
So Gubin field.
Figeľ father\'s yard;
Cut, God, rye barley
John\'s father\'s field.
Janice at the barn door?
Piesējuši sons of God,
Barley rye mērodami.
With marvelous your hat:
Lower your cap
I grew barley, rye.
Your big field of rye:
All night salīgoju,
End of the field did not find.
Midsummer night neguļati:
Who Slept on Midsummer night,
Valdres rye, barley Valdres.
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