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Poems /
St. John's rhymes
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Right on Midsummer Eve:
White skirt back,
White rod hand.
You, adore, a white horse,
Apjāj my rye field.
Rang out, žvadzēdams;
Fuck, Janita, realizes
Apjāj my barley field;
When atjāsi another year,
I\'ll give a sweet barley beer.
Well arrived at home;
Race, Janita, yard
Cut round his waist,
To grow in our fields of rye,
Turning Vērpelēs.
Kumeliņš his saddle,
Apjāj rye, barley apjāj,
Apjāj all tīrumiņus.
Apjāj all labībiņu,
To grow the labībiņa
As Janice hat.
Apjāj your tīrumiņu:
Is it purely a garden,
Is there a product edge.
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 rye field
Cover my rye field
Gray spikelet.
Apjāj my rye field:
Yesterday was a big storm,
Nemaitāja or flowers.
Apjāj my tīumiņs,
To grow vārpatiņas
My father zemites.
Apjōj vysu teirumeņu,
Apjoj vysu teirumeņu,
Los\' vōrpeņas hayloft,
Where nūkūsta where nūgrīzta,
Where ganeņu nūganeita.
Apjāj their tīrumiņus,
Let in your own kumeliņu
Red apples.
John\'s father\'s yard;
Cut, God, rye barley
John\'s father\'s field.
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