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Peace to those who may yet bring the wings:
As the night quietly reconcile the day -
We should be reconciled with death quietly.
And - why not - it Seems vientulīgāks.
Every time you walk in the heart Between the Birches,
Lips stay whispers and prayed.
As before midnight, the windows close shut;
Not investigate longer view your star articles
Heart as a seagull will not want to run anymore.
On the whole I sing praise to God.
Infinity as the traveler
Against the unknown coast of its own,
Like today I\'m going yet,
Did not know where you once tell the story,
And, dreaming beneath the turf,
A deal with God Himself.
Stands as a monument to broken trunk pole
Covers the site and what is not covered herself tomb;
Brought birch branches, keeping intercession. . .
When you no longer need to wait for the day
And when the heart can not raise at all
The wings were those that now I\'m running.
Soul surrenders
Often the fate of water ran;
St. John the waves as vējrauta page. . .
Only at the tomb
Clarity of light as a seagull flies over the face.
What biases eyes with pale hands off,
And the sad procession will take us th streets
Where you no longer need to go in the spring.
Heart sink into the abyss, there is nothing which does not change,
And where maybe, maybe nothing can come.
Up there knows how bitterly weeping for them,
Who quietly falls asleep and there is not taken,
As lost in the black waters.
They are some of the great pain, arguably,
To uzzīd heart like bitter chrysanthemum,
What a glamorous flourish when the breath of autumn feel.
And memory - after other other - gaist.
Already forgotten is the first rye grind,
Soon forget the grind last.
Both the stream floods of March,
Both jāņuguns who does not want to go out for a long time,
Both the first snow of the earth clean the white -
You were everything.
Then - to nenosarkst native sand.
Then the message that life had to ride,
What are sales to the end.
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