The Ghost of One Who Yawns Addresses Yale

You would not have dared look into my face When it wore flesh and scowled Upon the world your people forced on me, You sons of Mammon, Children of ivied priviledge. I was Terror to the Mexican, And the name their tongue gave to me Became a word for courage in your own - Yet you pampered ones, Who would never see The troglodyte face of battle, Sending others in your place for that - Would dare to steal my very bones To serve your ceremonies to wealth and ease. My skull and bones may be In your weak and profane hands, But they have never served your ends. Even in death I yawn At what you consider power, At the piles of shifting sands You move about to raise your little thrones. I lived and laughed where you would have died; The Earth my throne The Sky my crown. My remains are not for the likes of you, Not pieces for your foolish games. Gothalay bids you send his bones home where they belong, And shame yourselves no more, Little boys, Playing with fire, Begging to be burned!