How do they do it, so calm and bright?
Striding along like guardians of the knight.
Strong and confident, no fear in sight.
Tough resilient, and full of might.
No self pity, no self doubt,
These ones throw all weakness out.
I sit and wonder as they march by
What it is that they have that I might try.
My puny self, often full of fear,
Put on bravado, put on smile and cheer.
To be like them is something I won't try
That's the Army of the Dead that was marching by.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem