SWEET DEFEAT (A PATRIOT'S SALUTE TO THE EAGLES)

Sweet is the feat of the feet that marched,
through the parch of time to the archway of glory
Whose grapes were ripened in the scorch of the sun,
and juice, frosted in the snows of the Kremlin
That one could taste the green of its coat and its white extracts
The moment euphoria was shot down
When the jingles stiffened and the trumpets were stripped of sound
The hooting and fluting, the rhythm of our pulses deadened

Sweet is the sweat of these heroes cloaked in green
Valiant as a regal white stallion, mighty as the eagle
Whose fractures and sprain, whose efforts and pain,
brought a synergy in the diversity of one-eighty million heads
That the beauty and grit in their passion, act and art
Gave class to our colors in the eyes of 7.2 billion...
Whose wills were concrete and muscles were brazen
That ice was thawed and metals were chewed for our pleasure

Sweet is defeat when hearts are won and stones are turned
That a loss would ever stay green in our hearts
And history will bear our flag on the blush of its cheeks
And the world will green with envy and whiten in fright
At the flagship of our immaculate exploits and deeds