I've already caught one,
Though today's search just began:
I feel like a recruiter
At an ROTC camp:
Toss a feather, watch it land
On a man with other plans.
My list grows exponentially,
Born of curiosity -
Soldiers, sailors, shooters
Join my list of tramps
And poets from the First World War
Mostly killed by what they saw.
And now a Scotsman by the name of Horne
The Dead Poet's Society adorns,
And then Ratcliffe joins the ranks;
The ghosts of others offer thanks.
And if I am remembered for one thing,
Let it be my remembering.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem