'Twas Britain, and the slithy Gove
Did gyre and gimble with the May:
All mimsy was the Bozzagrove,
And Corbyn raithes laid graves.
'Beware the Brexit-beast, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Farrage bird, and shun
The frumious Junkersnatch!'
He took his Merkel sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought
And found the referendum tree,
And stood a while in thought.
And, as in uffish mood he stood,
The Brexit beast, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the UKIP woods
And burbled as it came!
Forty eight! Fifty two! And through and through
His Merkel blade went Snicker-snack!
And in his head he thought it dead
Thus went galumphing back.
'And hast thou slain the Brexit beast?
Look to the polls, my sqeamish son!
Oh frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.
'Twas Britain and the slithy Gove
Did gyre and gimble with the May:
All mimsy was the Bozzagrove,
And the Corbyn raithes laid graves.
-Murray Lachlan Young
The Brexit Beast