Flattering to Deceive & Tilton

Yet another World Cup disappointment.

Last time it was India who flattered to deceive in the finals. This time, it is our own Kiwis (our bond to our adopted country had grown stronger) who let us down in the semis.

Our entire family woke up at 2 am NZ time and stayed glued to the TV. Me and my wife drank a few cups of filter cofee and even had breakfast at that unearthly 3 am. By 7 am we were having doubts if the Kiwis could make it. By 9 all seemed lost.

As Fleming lost the plot, Bond's mission was aborted. Malinga was Chuck(l)ing and Murali weaved a web of unorthodox magic (another chuck(l)ing Lankan?).

Weary, a little bit teary and bleary eyed, we pulled ourselves up, feeling bad for the nice Kiwi team.

"Well", I thought, "Even This Shall Pass Away" as Tilton says in this Vedantic poem.
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Once in Persia reigned a king,
Who upon his signet ring
Graved a maxim true and wise,
Which, if held before his eyes,
Gave him counsel at a glance
Fit for every change and chance.
Solemn words, and these are they;
"Even this shall pass away."

Trains of camels through the sand
Brought him gems from Samarkand;
Fleets of galleys through the seas
Brought him pearls to match with these;
But he counted not his gain
Treasures of the mine or main;
"What is wealth?" the king would say;
"Even this shall pass away."

'Mid the revels of his court,
At the zenith of his sport,
When the palms of all his guest
Burned with clapping at his jest,
He, amid his figs and wine,
Cried, "O loving friends of mine;
Pleasures come, but not to stay;
'Even this shall pass away."

Lady, fairest ever seen,
Was the bride he crowned his queen.
Pillowed on his marriage bed,
Softly to his soul he said:
"Though no bridegroom ever pressed
Fairer bosom to his breast,
Mortal flesh must come to clay-
Even this shall pass away."

Fighting on a furious field,
Once a javelin pierced his shield;
Soldiers, with a loud lament,
Bore him bleeding to his tent.
Groaning from his tortured side,
"Pain is hard to bear, " he cried;
"But with patience, day by day,
Even this shall pass away."

Towering in the public square,
Twenty cubits in the air,
Rose his statue, carved in stone.
Then the king, disguised, unknown,
Stood before his sculptured name,
Musing meekly: "What is fame?
Fame is but a slow decay;
Even this shall pass away."

Struck with palsy, sore and old,
Waiting at the Gates of Gold,
Said he with his dying breath,
"Life is done, but what is Death?"
Then, in answer to the king,
Fell a sunbeam on his ring,
Showing by a heavenly ray,
"Even this shall pass away."

-THEODORE TILTON