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Laman, Alyaksandra Vasilyuna, n. 1912, Boutsichy village

However much of the forest I've chopped,
I keep chopping aspen,
If I couldn't get a boy,
I love my ugly wood-chip.

As I go up the hill,
I will pick a camomile,
Although I myself am not good,
Someone good I will trick.

Build a fence, dear, I will remember,
Build a fence wide.
Leave me, someone bad,
You will go as someone good.

I walked through the fir-grove,
The fir-grove made my legs falter.
I loved the rich one,
But the poor one was more attractive.

I will put on a long skirt,
May they sweep the street.
My Dear considers me a fool,
May he find me smart.

Why, darling, don't you mourn,
don't you sew a black dress.
They will take me away to be a soldier,
To which you will see me off.

They say that it's autumn, autumn,
But the grass is green.
They say that my dear is simple,
But I am always happy.

However much you work for your father,
You will not outlive the yard.
But he will leave everything to the son,
You will go live in a foreign land.

I walked around the corridor,
I counted over the stairs.
My dear plays on the accordian,
And I sing songs.

Oh I stomp a foot,
And stomp the second.
However much I stomp,
I always want to braid.

Let's gallop down the hill,
To drink water from the stream.
Let's ask the dears,
To talk of love.