A A Milne eh? So I've got to be rude. I can manage that.

Hi, John, I cry "welcome" to you.
This Spherean Flyting is new.
The trouble is, Dude,
it's not about "rude";
it's more about "crafted" and "true".

I have to defend poor old John.
Though the UK will soon be quite gone,
And the pound’s shot to hell,
I am sure he meant well;
Like so many, he fell for the con.

Yes, Brian, you're probably right
but that doesn't alter the plight
of all the poor sods
who knew it was cods
but lost by a gnat's on the night.

Your Harping knows no end in talk or verse,
Itching ways to re-loop the self-same curse,
Same Gloating point, go figure, as before,
Nothing is worse than a redundant bore.
Not sated by GT, you rush to Flyte;
Then, those who play can't beat thy Appetite!
So on again predictably hellbent,
You Flyte a proper Non-participant!
You are, if Brexit be indeed a Sin,
True Harper of it like The Puritan,
Must belt it out each day to rub it in!
d

Better a Puritan, who knows the price of sin,
Than neophytes of nonsense, who should not begin
To prate of NHS benefits that all were lies,
When those that they support, plot its demise.

Rather I’d hug the probity of Plymouth’s dads,
Who, narrow-minded, still were outward-looking lads
And cleave to my old continent’s cousins of kind,
Whose faith in their shared peace proclaims my mind.

For Europe, riven in their time, displaced good folk
Who, in this happier age, have shared a common yoke
To make a home, despite false “Glories” now unfurled,
A refuge for the weak, some bigots’ greed has hurled,
As grease for tank-tracks in a ‘Me-First’ world.

It's possible to be not Puritan,
Not railing every breath on one sole Sin,
And not your 'neophyte': You heard before
Of that thought fallacy of either or?
The logic goes like this: I robed a bank, see,
But better theft than murder, so just thank me.
Amen.

Swift to repy and swift to ‘fess -
The Manichean choice of ‘Yes’
Or ‘No’ is what exactly is
A Referendum’s catharsis.

No room for doubt, still less for truth,
Breeds the dishonest and uncouth –
Yet in the end there comes a choice
Between good hope and mean hearts’ voice.

The ‘Brexit’ pick, stripped to the buff,
Vain, mean and stupid was enough
To mark our era and its cards
With fools turned knaves – and afterwards
xxxxxA fracturing of parts,
xxxxxFirst of places – then of hearts.

Changed Terms. Not Puritan the way you vote,
Nay, just the Diatribe-a-day you wrote.
Such thing that I shall now no more promote!

g

I'm glad to be the cause of verse,
Sorry it goes from bad to worse.
If this be flyting, holy Jesus,
Give us some stuff that better pleases.
Stop harping on the same old string.
Put wit into your carolling.
Moaners remember we are out
Without the shadow of a doubt.
Scots, you are well and truly broke.
Blustering Sturgeon is a joke.
You know I'm right, I'm always right
And so Goodnight to all this sh***.