'Twas the night before Brexit, when all through the House
Not a researcher was stirring, not even a mouse
Hansard was laid by the despatch box with care
In hopes that Mr Speaker soon would be there
The whips were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of scandal danced in their heads
And I in my heels and Philip in his cap
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap
When out in the Chamber arose such a clatter
I sprang from the office to see what was the matter
Away to the Commons I flew like a flash
Threw aside Black Rod and bombed in with a crash
The lights on the green of the leather on show
Gave the lustre of PMQs to benches below
When, what to my sunken eyes should appear
But a drunken Luxembourger, and eight tiny Europeans
With a little old driver, the same but somehow drunker
I knew in a moment it must be St. Juncker
More rapid than eagles the 27 they came
And he slurred, and barked, and mumbled their names
"Now! Barnier, now! Verhofstadt, now! Rajoy, and Tusk!
On! Merkel, on! Macron, on! Tajani, and Schulz!
To the top of the Alps! To the top of the Berlin wall!
Now demand away! Demand away! Demand away all!"
As strong leaders before a crisis fly
When they meet with opposition, mount to the sky
So up to the UK the 27 they flew
With a sleigh full of red lines- and St. Jean-Claude too
And then with a whisper, I heard on the roof
Their chattering and gossiping about someone they thought a goof
As I lowered my head, and sulked around
Through the doors St. Juncker came with a bound
He was dress'd all in grey, from his head to his foot
And his clothes were all tarnish'd with creases and soot
A bundle of papers was flung on his back
And he look'd like a drunken President not far from the sack
But his Commission- how it twinked! His parliament- how merry!
Neither cheap, but surely worth every penny?
EU membership he carried, beautifully wrapped with a bow
But to accept it or not I just did not know
Access to the single market he would bequeath
And friendship too, no catches beneath
His offer was broad, and genuine I knew
And even said our passports could be blue!
Yet the right began to laugh, those dusty old elves
And I cackled along in spite of myself
A squint of his eye, and a shake of his head
Soon gave me to know I had everything to dread
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
And emptied all our stockings, then turn'd with a jerk
And raising two fingers level with my nose
With a final sigh, up the chamber he rose
He sprung to his sleigh, to the 27 gave a whistle
And away they all flew, content in their dismissal
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight
"Farewell to all, and to all a terrible night"
A festive Fake News poem brought to you by Backbench.
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