This way I do not know, that is very easy to go
And as with white feet pārstaigājams life.
We all have grown up kakiķs
Everything is similar -
Forest years and years of people\'s lives.
Saturiņicīts>
And so life has to go before, and I realize,
With a warm song fir cone ring,
With a gay white birch trees grow in you,
With some confidence in you live in forests.
Saturiņicīts>
Resident, short-lived moment through change. His father\'s dream, wonderful apple tree blossoms. Saturiņicīts>
still just friends pasacīju good name,
Even just a song I translated the swifts,
Another has just realized how endless blue
It is the native land all Pamales.
Saturiņicīts>
all hard for common izsāpēt can not,
Everyone has something that will stay
And one by himself alone to bear;
So black nights, so the white snow,
But so far sacrifice riverside willows,
And so much zeltgalvīšu the world.
Saturiņicīts>
gives a voice to speak the window winds
Do not go out to look - there will not be visible there.
Saturiņicīts>
Nothing I could not easily throw away,
Rooted in the heart of everything that had been entrusted or given;
I am a slow farewell, if forces me to leave,
And many times look back, yet away leaving.
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And my unspoken words
As the flowers before the frost thrives
Well linked with the pine roots
To me the land and the sea is cold.
Saturiņicīts>
And the same mother leaving
Will once again evolved into a song.
But the will said, thank you,
And remain in proximity to the light:
- Thanks for the heart, Mother,
Thank you for the way the Sun Mother,
And ever new fields.
Saturiņicīts>
I\'ll be the song, which ranges withdrawn
At the crane hook, which is home pošos.
Saturiņicīts>
With every storm in life, something to die
With each loss of life on a more severe pain.
Saturiņicīts>
night of mourning scarf black
Stars cross, viz,
Linen mother of ignition scale
Midnight in the sky.
Saturiņicīts>
pats hand Put me on the shoulder,
But not me anymore,
I am deep in snow.
Saturiņicīts>
The candle tonight neaizdedz,
To only snowy light hits the window
A little bird baby wipe tears
Of the red rowan berries ...
Saturiņicīts>
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