The golden bristles shone, clear in the eastern sky
As the boar raised his head, with a glint in his eye
Patric saw the serpent and chased it from the land
But the boar, too strong and mighty,
took no instruction from his hand.
The people said to Patric, the serpent you have slain,
but the boar with the golden bristles, Lives to rise again.
And now we wake each morning and look to the clear blue sky
Where the boar shines so brightly,
that we praise him as he goes by.
The serpent on his belly, was smote by Patric's hand
But the boar will live forever on this fine green land.
Tinne 28 CE 1998
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem