Lauri Viita: [reads a poem] Sleep, child, just sleep. The sheep are taken to the fold - the cloud sheep to the fold. The wind circles the house. Odd is the sky, great is the land. The flames flickers restlessly. Slowly goes dark. Somewhere, a rising rhytm beats: Great is the night, odd is the night. Sleep, child, just sleep.Vanha vihainen mies: Shut up! People are trying to sleep here!
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