A Brussels elegy

This nation now faces a most dreadful curse, A laureate refusing to pen us new verse. Alas, he explains, to the people of Britain, A poem on Brexit he’s already written. ‘Twas done back in March, when we were meant to go,

It’s not really his fault – Mrs May was too slow. But when it comes to events of so great a size, It cannot be too much to ask a reprise.

All poets now ought to be flexing their muscles, Composing their own special farewell to Brussels. We on this paper have here done our best, With these few humble lines, half written in jest. As Britain breaks free from the EU’S harsh fetter, Perhaps you, dear reader, might do even better?