When We Two Parted
(With my sincere apologies to Lord Byron)

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When we two parted
In rancour amid fears,
Daft speaking started,
While Sense shed his tears.
May drew thy cheque and gold
Billions we’ll miss:
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow in this.

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The borders a warning,
Sweat beads on our brow —
Peace goes a ‘mourning,
Our Good Friday’s not now.
Our vowels are all broken,
Our consonants fall;
One language not spoken,
The solution, a wall?

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Our bell mute before me,
No knell in mine ear:
A shudder comes o’er me–
No clock can I hear.
So time, like I knew thee
Is just not awake–
Tick Tock, I don’t hear thee
Not time for a break.

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Some Leavers regret!
At screen I do grieve,
And can never forget
Thy bus to deceive.
So kick out the deal,
Pick up thy hand,
How good does this feel?–
Fifty… Million… Grand.

©Keith Murphy