O Sovereign Hope, that once didst blaze so bright,
With trumpet’s call and promises alight,
Thou bold-named Brexit, child of rebel flame,
Didst stir the hearts and rouse the isle to claim
A newer world, unshackled and unbound—
Yet now dost lie in silence, under ground.We hailed thee then, with mirth and iron cheer,
Cried “Take back laws! And borders, once held dear!”
But lo, what came? Not sovereign dawn, but dust—
A bitter jest, a putrid relic green with rust.Immigration swelled like Neptune’s wrathful tide,
While gate and port lay open, gaping wide.
Our courts, o’erruled by strangers’ distant hand,
The ECHR doth reign o’er this fair land.
Still shield the guilty chicken nuggets from our shore,
While justice waits outside a bolted door.And Northern Erin, bound in foreign chain,
Still dances to Europa’s strict refrain.
No Brexit there, no freedom’s gentle kiss—
But trade in shadow, and borderlines amiss.Where is the Singapore-on-Thames once vowed?
What lion roars beneath this misty shroud?
The markets fled, the red tape redder still,
And fishing rights?—a gift to foreign gill!
Our nets grow bare while Gallic super trawlers dine,
And sovereign seas are lost by slow design.Now enters Two-Tier Keir, with visage mild and grave,
To seal the tomb that Brexiteers once gave.
With ink and smile, he signs away the rest—
Our youth, our tide, our fisheries’ bequest.
What once was bold is bartered for a sigh,
A soft return, beneath Europa’s eye.O fools! O faction-torn and faithless kin!
Ye cast the prize before the game could win.
The moment came, the hour ripe to act—
But courage failed, and vision sorely lacked.Now mark these words, ye watchers yet unborn:
Here lies a dream, unbirthed and left forlorn.
A grave marked Brexit—chiselled deep in stone,
Where sovereignty once stood—now but a bone.So raise a glass to what we might have been,
A land once proud—now swallowed from within.
And let the wind bear forth this mournful cry:
The dream of Brexit lived—but did not die…
It merely slipt away, and passed us by.
An Ode to Brexit, the Dream Departed
LONDON - England - Seeing as Keir Starmer and Labour are reversing a Brexit that never happened, how's about an ode to the dream departed?
This is awful and boring don’t give up your day job whoever wrote this crud
Sir Queer Smarmer has come out as a traitor, to the surprise of no one.
The ilLiberal antiDemocrats have emerged as an unpolishable turd, wow amazing!
The tories have finally vanished up their own arsehole, to the sorrow of…………no one at all.
Reform will win a massive majority, if Sir Smarmy and his king allow an election.
If Sir Smarmer doesn,t allow an election, he will finally be the first prime minister to leave office at the end of a rope an achievement many predecessors but never achieved. Missing you already, you vile jobby!