From the shores of Danish harbors,
I live my Viking past.
And I hear the words of my father saying...
'You are not pure.
You are a mongrel.
You represent ancestors...
On your blood line that will last.'
And I listen to those speak of their ancestry,
As if they were as pure as they could be.
With most of them wishing they sat on thrones,
Depicting their connection with royalty.
But as for me I'll take being called a mongrel, .
A moor who is black or a more not without that.
It doesn't matter to me.
Since this 'mongrel' witnessed to be observed,
IS going to achieve with a doing done to be believed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem