Brexit

O, woe betide this isle, once Europe's bride,
Whose union, like a ship 'gainst stormy tide,
Didst crack and split 'neath sovereignty's great weight,
And left us here in this disheveled state.

Behold the man, whose hands do wring in grief,
For gone are days of common ground and brief
Was our respite from discord's bitter sting,
Now isolation's bell doth harshly ring.

"Alas, alas!" he cries unto the stars,
"What folly hath we wrought with these scars?
The pound doth fall, and trade doth wane and slip,
As from our grasp, the threads of kinship rip.

Was't not enough to share both ale and song,
To break our bread as brethren 'mongst the throng?
Yet here I stand, 'pon cliffs of Dover, lone,
As dreams of unity are overthrown.

The Channel, once a moat 'round castle's might,
Now seems a vast and unbridgeable plight.
Forsooth, what madness drove us to this end?
To sever bonds we scarcely now can mend.

Our tapestry, once rich with diverse thread,
Unravels now, and fills my heart with dread.
The continent, our neighbor, friend, and peer,
Feels now as distant as the moon doth appear.

O Britain, my Britain, what hast thou done?
To trade the morrow for the setting sun?
The globe doth watch, as we our own path tread,
A kingdom once united, now misled.

For what? For sovereignty? For prideful boast?
We've gained but little, and have lost the most.
The stage is set, the players take their part,
In this great tragedy that breaks my heart.

Curse this divorce," the man doth wail and fret,
"Which leaves us naught but sorrow and regret.
The union's fabric, torn and rent asunder,
Leaves us to wander, ponder, and to wonder.

What cost, what price, what value can we place
Upon the sovereignty we so embrace?
Forsooth, the coin of realm doth lose its sheen,
As markets tumble to what might have been.

The scepter, once a rod of power so grand,
Now but a willow, wilted in the hand.
And I, a subject to this fate unkind,
Do wring my hands as thoughts swirl in my mind.

To be or not within the EU's fold,
That was the question, bravely asked, and bold.
Yet now, the answer leaves us in the cold,
Our story, like a tragic play, unfolds.

We've cut the cord, the anchor cast away,
And set adrift, we face the break of day.
The dawn of independence, stark and clear,
Yet brings no comfort to the hearts that fear.

For what is Britain, if not great and free?
Yet greatness lies in unity, you see.
The channel's waters, once a bond, not bar,
Now seem to stretch and keep our brethren far.

The globe doth turn, and with it, turns the tide,
Of politics, of power, of national pride.
But here I stand, amidst the tempest's roar,
A man divided, longing for the shore.

So let the quill of history write true,
Of how we chose to bid the old adieu.
And in this soliloquy, find the clue,
Of what it means to start the world anew."