Brexit Sonnet No. 62 – ‘Peerage Gowns of Gold’

A Lord I thought I’d never ever be,
No country pile, no public school of note,
No London club, or Lord of MCC,
No fancy robes or castle boasting moat.
Besides, I’d disagree and duels I’d fight,
Across my red etched lines of lasting truth.
My soup I’d slurp and misaddress Sir Knight,
I’d fail to shave and utter oaths uncouth.
But wait, The Lords are speaking sense at last.
They divide with wisdom, sense and reasoned thought,
So sadly lacking from that Commons caste,
Senseless now, by brainless Brexit brought.
So sign me up for peerage gowns of gold,
Till on Brexit, doth the page of history fold.

©Keith Murphy