Brexit Sonnet No. 124 - 'We know not what we may be’
 

So is this a Pyrrhic victory we have won?
A chance to cheer, a smallish tear to weep?
It’s just May’s tragic deal; its race now run,
What options do those who wield the power now seek?
In truth, no hand doth grip our Nation’s tiller.
No consensus group doth yet appear
To wrest the weapons from this Brexit killer.
This reaching out, our PM doth most fear.
‘Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,
A thousand twangling instruments’ and more besides 
Will hum about mine ears; and ofttimes voices,
Saying - ‘We’ve more in common than divides.’ 
Dwell not on the present - this churning Brexit sea,
‘We know what we are, but know not what we may be.’

© Keith Murphy