I sleep restless sleep,
until the new morning dawns,
and the cries of the morning dew beads in March.
The fog creeps over the cornfields,
I'm lonely under the covers.
The morning red sky color to paint again.
Night frost on a flower to hurry out of the way.
A night away from here is the hobgoblin,
when you wake up sunshine the daughter of the sun.
I am free of any contact with the hands,
an orphan alone to visit the land.
Son of man alone,
without parallel wanderer;
without the same gate opener.
Locked my soul with lid,
sounds Suppressed waiting
out to the caller.
Sticky in my hand,
share with me to this day.
And in millions of ways,
the world of writing.
As I said in millions,
I love the Finnish language.
And the day of darkness creeps over the rooftops,
I am a woman of thousands of words rhyme.