Twas The Week Before Brexmas

‘Twas the week before Brexmas, and all through the land
The people exclaimed, “This is not what we planned!
Our Union Jack stockings were hung out with care –
So many promises, so much hot air!
We voted for getting our sovereignty back
And not for this shambles of shame and of lack.
They promised us cash for our poor NHS.
It all seemed so positive, now it’s a mess.
And most of the warnings that came to our ear,
The ones we dismissed with the phrase ‘Project Fear’,
Are coming to pass!” the poor Leavers did squeal,
“Instead of our freedom, there’s May’s useless Deal!
Or No Deal at all, which is worst of the lot.
We’re starting to wish we could keep what we’ve got!
Our stockings are empty, no presents we spy.
They’ve stolen our Brexmas, and we don’t know why!”

Meanwhile the Remainers, awake in their beds,
While visions of skeletons danced in their heads,
Were praying that Santa would graciously send ‘em
The glorious gift of a NEW REFERENDUM!
“They called us Remoaners,” they yelled to the sky,
“Now everyone’s moaning. We’re all going to die!”

We peered through the night at the new-fallen snow
And waited for help from J Corbyn and Co.,
But word came there none, they had nothing to say,
To the point where we wished they would just go away.
The Scots were much better, but they were too few
And no one in power seemed to know what to do.

Then what to our wondering eyes did appear
But a man bearing lashings of cold ginger beer,
Blue Passports and mistletoe, wine and eggnog,
We knew in a tick it was Saint J Rees Mogg!
“Fear not my dear people”, he said with a smirk,
“It may take some time for the magic to work.
So cease with your snivelling, dry up your tears,
We’ll all be quite rich in about fifty years.
Now cash in your savings, your pension, an ISA
And watch while our country gets nicer and nicer.
Let flags wave aloft, throughout the entire land,
(But best move your business, like I did, to Ireland)”.

Then donning his monocle, kid gloves and topper
And giving a nod, he got into his chopper;
With a wink and a generous wave of dismissal,
He just disappeared, like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he flew out of sight,


17 December 2018