A poem dedicated to Jacob Rees-Mogg, loosely based, in structure, on Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte by Byron. That form has no consequence for the ideas in the poem, but has made it a little more pleasurable to write and might amuse poetry lovers. It’s the sort of thing that James Joyce might have scribbled off on a train journey from Paris to Trieste. He would probably have written it in Latin as well for his own amusement and still got it to rhyme!
Apologies to Brexiteers; this is not against necessarily about you. We have had to put up with the moans and groans of Europhobes since 1975, blaming all the ills of the UK on filthy foreigners and the EU – often conflating those two concepts deliberately. For me, they are the Remoaners. They didn’t want to be part of Europe; they wanted to Remain outside, denied the will of the majority that voted, wanted another referendum and continuously complained that the population were tricked into voting for something of which the parameters have changed. If it sounds familiar, that’s because it is!
Ode to the Real Remoaner
‘Tis done – the agreement has arrived
That wearisome wager you’ve lately lost
By the leading lady it was finally derived
All you, now, can do is count its cost
The promise you so mendaciously made
That we could have our cake and trade
Into the wildest winds was tossed
And those who thought you a rising star
Now rejoice to see you fallen so far
That woman on whose demise you planned
Has wrought asunder your wretched group
The letters which you thought in hand
Scattered in the House like alphabet soup
She is still there, where you are not
Your enemies happier with their lot
Your followers must themselves regroup
Inform those left far to the right
That No Deal is no longer in your sight!
For there are forces, fervent, that desire a voice
Who never believed your baleful story
In those woes you blamed on our European choice
They heard the moanings of a Tory
Who had never accepted a generation’s decision
Their European ideas, only worthy of derision
O, you obsessed with hearsay history
Now the game is up, they want their say
The dreaded dogs will have their day
Over forty years have passed and gone
Since the people chose with Europe to unite
You have never ceased that decision to bemoan
Every improvement with you has been a fight
You have moaned about a lack of democracy
Though convinced of our need for aristocracy
Any benefits that gain we might
Obscured by your desire to remain a loner
The coast has now come clear – you are the Real Remoaner