The ballad of the small island

Listen! I tell the tale of the small island 

Who voted to turn away from the world. 

Well, the result was close, 

split nearly down the middle. 

It was the idea of identity.

Who’s in or out, 

who belongs, who doesn’t, 

who surly border guards should stop 

or allow to proceed. 

A thorny issue that stung,

drew blood.

It caused leaders to fall from their thrones, 


it sent shockwaves not just across a stunned nation, 

continent but the planet.

However, the staggering thing was that the politicians, 

those latter day monks 

that inhabited those Whitehall cells, 

seemed to have no plan.

Going for the exit may have meant 

going for the exit, 

but what about what happened next,

when you step over the doorstep?

The ship boarded tentatively,

 but what course should we lay Captain? 

Months have gone by, without detail, 

no real policy given, 

no direction.

Do we build a wall to keep out?

Do we negotiate new trade deals without the added clout 

of 27 brothers and sisters on our corner? 

All the while it’s far from quiet in the country.

Emotions were stirred like embers, 

sparking a conflagration.

Abuse given on buses.

‘Go home’ I’ve heard them shout, 

along with other obscenities,

Rampant bigotry 

spreading like poison in the vacuum.

Whilst silence, inaction 

Indecision reigns on that small island that voted to turn away.

To look inward instead of outward.

Oh small little island, how small you have become.