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Poems
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Stars cross, viz,
Linen mother of ignition scale
Midnight in the sky.
To only snowy light hits the window
A little bird baby wipe tears
Of the red rowan berries ...
A total stranger and will be turned into everything
Along the way will leave a white winter white mēnessdārznieks,
On my desk, flower, floral leaves.
Now I walk in silence,
With juniper root shut the door behind him,
Green around the brightness,
On my wrist cranberry viz.
Are you behind the clouds, mother,
Maybe dievkoka darker green branch
Yet you can talk with ...
After bezmiegnakts I am a holy hour,
When unfinished dreams drūzmējas at the door
And pusiesāktie work knocks at the gate,
But silence is disturbing
As a flight above the sea.
And then wrap a linen mist.
Is the light eternal as the sea radiation
And land trust, something indestructible darkness.
Will remain white working mūžiņā my records.
I am a white forest temple then go
Another star going to ask a handful of winter midnight.
My life span,
What is behind it, or re-birch consolation?
Or just a quiet, calm endless?
Put me in the hands of
A small fragment of bees Svētvakara,
At atsmaržos its white flowers apiary,
What else did not manage my songs shine.
The eternal candle light touch could be felt
And at the ancient book,
There, between the pages of frost,
It is as if part of my childhood would be.
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Page : 829 |