Account of a Visit from St. Nicholas
(With my apologies to Major Henry Livingston, Jr.)

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‘Twas the night before Brexit, and nothing was signed,
Not a talk was occurring, no one resigned;
Parliament was hung, unable to act,
Incompetence ruled, but no one was sacked.
The leavers were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of no deal danc’d in their heads.
And Johnson of Uxbridge and Mogg in his spats
Had hung up their brains for a long winter’s nap —
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below;
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a crowd of millions chanting; ‘Leave – No fear!’
With support of these millions, it had to done,
Negotiate a Remain before the morning did come.
I rang up my colleagues and opponents as well,
But no response from the Leavers to the telephone bell.
So the ‘will of the people’ had now changed its tune,
A definite key change from that vote off in June.
No Leaver did stir, ‘no deal’ dreams held them trapped,
And fortunately populace had seen through this crap.
So my colleagues, (cross party), took to the sky
And buoyed up by consensus, to Brussels did fly.
So up to the house-tops us Remainers we flew,
To slay right wing Tories and Ukippers too:
And then in a twinkling, we heard on the wire
That Europe would take us, back with desire.
As we drew into Brussels, a treaty we found,
Just signed on the line, retaining our pound.
So the deed had been done and disaster averted,
Big Ben was struck to awake the converted.
Remainers awoke to relief the next day
And opened their present from Santa’s big sleigh.
Now a mystery surrounds the Leavers reaction,
I’ll tell you all with no government redaction.
They awoke from their slumbers, all cheerful and bright
And responded to news by saying it’s right.
But a man with a beard and a pipe in his teeth,
Last night dropped his dust on sleepers beneath.
He had a broad face, and a little round belly
That shook when he laugh’d, like a bowl full of jelly:
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laugh’d when I saw him in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, when he went to his work,
He kill’d all the arguing; then turn’d with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprung to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle:
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove in the sky —
Happy Christmas to all, and to Brexit goodbye.

©Keith Murphy