Brexit Sonnet No. 67 – ‘Lights not Amber’

I can’t get too worked up, for what may come,
In normal times it would be such a deal.
A high ranked queen, now looking rather glum,
Lights not Amber, but ruddy red I feel.
A remnant of Remain she now may claim,
To arouse our listening sympathetic ear.
But crimes of unspeakable uselessness remain,
For which she must atone alone I fear.
So Brexit’s wind doth rush through those inept,
Those who can not command the detailed word.
Those, who sheep like follow, blindly swept,
Into hollow lies, and truths by money blurred.
So tax me not; this fall, this crumbled cake,
For collapse of all around, I patient wait.

©Keith Murphy