weaves, weaves a love of honey,
Steal frost -
and only ice
shimmer on your bread
Spoon the entire pot
rise up with your power,
at the crossroads of the faint būkšķi
zvirbulītis falls dead. *

The hair is rising still,
and on the head severe foot
walking horror officer,
whistling a sweet song.

(Winter Song giant power
make me unhappy. )
and along the fence aizklumburē
Lute, which nevaig string.

Where we both now go?
A great deal of snow trail
autopilot crushed,

crossroads, as it was said,
Catullo. Dead. And beside him
zvirbulītis upside down.