Brexit Sonnet No.18 – ‘Shall I compare thee to the tax I pay?’

Shall I compare thee to the tax I pay?
Thou art more honest and more appropriate:
Rough winds now shake the wretched reign of May,
And Brexit’s lease hath all too short a date;
Sometimes too hot the Paradise eye doth shine,
Upon my gold, reflection of the sinne’d,
And what seemed fair to declare truly not mine.
My hope for fortune large could now be dimm’d;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall Brexit drag on and chance delayed,
For fear the Tax Avoidance Directive grow’st:
So long as we can weave the lies for free,
And keep live Brexit, and fortune close to me.

©Keith Murphy