There was a farm
near a river
where on patrol
we sometimes had to get provisions.
A commandant stayed there
and he was a real patriarch
that read out of the Bible in the evenings,
gave biltong away from a barn
and his wife
could cook the best Boer food,
but we had to cross the river
which teamed with crocodiles
and hippopotamuses
which could snap a boat in two
and when we walked to that farm
we couldn’t wait
to get there.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem