Brexit Sonnet No. 44 – ‘The sun that’s setting’

Is that the sun that’s setting, the end now nigh
For the day brought on by foolish spit and spat?
As shafts of sunlight streak the lead lined sky,
This low sun sinketh now, its cold last act?
For promise new anoints the morn to come,
Of red coats overwhelming those in blue.
For customs shared, numbers now bang the drum.
Not long our poop deck manned by motley crew.
So sleep your sleep, for who knows what may be,
As ivory towers do falleth at our feet.
We’ll build again, and trade with tariffs free,
Those chains of heartless hardened Brexit cheat.
So come sun, we’ll meet again in warmer days,
When all ‘tis done with this bitter Brexit craze.

©Keith Murphy