The Brexit poem

No light at the end of the tunnel,

No shining sun in the winter sky,

No famed silver lining on clouds,

No end to the hyped Brexit lie.

British grass will be greener outside,

Grown with our lands own reign,

Getting as high as British bulldog’s eye,

Which is taller than a great Dane.

Trade will be easier with the world,

Faster, frictionless and fair for all,

Except with our neighbours though,

That has hit a cliff sized Chalk wall.

The ten mile long lorry park is full,

And it’s growing every single day,

But at least it’s socially distanced,

In their twenty metre parking bay.

The side salad’s off this Christmastime,

So every pub will have to close,

The bubbles will stop inside bottles,

As the talks stuttered then froze.

A Norway style plus was promised,

Then an Australian one was better,

Now we are on to the Mongolian,

Who cares, I just want Greek feta!

Two years worth of conversations now,

But an extra week will be needed,

Each side are just blaming the other,

They can’t be the side that conceded.

Let’s get Brexit done was his slogan,

Bad English for a broken promise,

The stuttering language from a buffoon,

Shouting as we go down this abyss.

We are an island in a huge ocean,

Everyone is waving us Bon Voyage!  

The euro tunnel’s stretched so tight,

You have to think who’s in charge?

The might of the big European union,

Or a small group of island nations,

With a government with no ideas,

Living on political survival rations.

This was my Brexit poem for you,

It could have gone on for ages,

But I didn’t want to be like Brexit,

So I only wrote a couple of pages.  

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