Image: Rock Cohen on Flickr.

Europe, it is you to whom I write this ode; 
Without you in my life, the future does forebode.  
As the UK legs it, I’m left with only Brexit, 
And with this ghastly fate, I’m increasingly irate. 

I shed incessant tears for those forty-seven years,  
As, without cease, the pain inside me sears. 
But while my emotions are highly wrought,  
I find solace in the hope of an Irish passport. 

Plummet does the pound, as from Europe I rebound, 
And along with this inflation, comes woeful fragmentation. 
But where am I to drown this wretched misery – 
When forced to live a life, sans boulangerie? 

I beg to God! Let this just be a phase,  
As I stand, silently anguished, in airport delays.  
But even such a queue, could not make me so blue,  
As on that fateful day, when we left the EU. 

Cheap flights to Spain’s white sandy beaches,  
Were quickly replaced with meaningless speeches. 
C’mon now Johnson, you’ve had your fun,  
I think it’s high time, you get this done. 

We’ve already come, before European Panel; 
We’re sentenced to a life, the wrong side of the Channel.  
But please, dear God, let us partake in Eurovision,  
Oh, how I’d miss that sweet British derision. 

On the horizon I see only my lover’s hearse,  
As I cry quietly, into my very last Bratwurst.  
And, taking comfort in a lone baguette,  
This torment inside, I do try to forget. 

But Europe, please be rest assured; 
This is but a test, that must be endured. 
My love, believe me – I rest not in compliance,  
But instead in rather, unyielding defiance.