From my prophet's cave in Wyandot
I peer northeast to the Thames of Ontario where my brother now breathes no more.
My brother the warrior breathes no more.
My brother, my Shooting Star Tecumseh,
my crouching panther. My flesh.
I killed him, crows the Kentuckian
campaigning for the United States Senate.
Majestic even in death, mourns Samuel Brown.
Mighty midst mankind, sings George Longmore.
Distinguished savage, says Daniel Dunihue,
turning the destiny of First Nations.
One of the noblest and most gallant spirits
that ever tenanted the breast of man.
Say what you will, John Richardson,
These empty words. My brother breathes no more.
Which battle? Moraviantown? No matter.
My brother breathes no more
and my people gasp for breath.
A national—not a tribal—symbol.
Tecumseh will live in place names.
Tecumseh will live in history.
Tecumseh will live. So you say.
You whose greed knows no end,
you who purchase what belongs to all,
you who would build fences, let it rest. My brother rests.