A question without context put to the nation,
No other purpose than saving Pig Fucker’s station.
A bandwagon jumped on with egotistical glee
By Farage, BoJo & Gove, an abhorrent three.
They promised the world to those who had nought,
Vote Brexit, kick Europe and all of their sort!
There’ll be money for healthcare, great jobs for all
And the best thing about it, no foreign rule!
Rule! Rule Britannia! God save the Queen!
We’ll get the empire back (wherever it’s been)!
Also, I know we’re not racist but this will be aces,
We’ll stop immigration - less foreign faces!
That was the Brexiteers, not brilliant debate,
No facts just slogans none could elaborate;
Whilst shifting the blame for our lack of prosperity
On Brussels, not years of Tory austerity.
But what of The Left, what did we do in this battle?
Assured of the result, we did… nothing at all.
The votes were counted, we stood in silent horror
The Brexiteers has done it the dream was over.
Kübler-Ross famously gave five stages of grief
Before the vote we already did disbelief.
Then came the anger aimed at those voting leave.
And with insults and bile the country did cleave.
Note to reader: Whilst I am partial to a spot of poetry I have to admit I am not a fan of the rhyming couplet; that being said I did enjoy cobbling this together. It was written in style-matching reply to my BFF’s Dad’s poem Brexit or Bust just for a bit of fun really. A Remoaner’s Lament remains a work in progress, I’m not sure whether I care enough to finish it off.
…An unfinished mess, quite apt for a poem about Brexit.– Cenydd.