Brexit

"They stayed in the bedroom for half an hour or so, talking, looking at things, talking; and Clara remembered thinking at the time that it was just such a honeysuckle-filtered, sunny conversational afternoon that would in years to come, whatever those years might bring, cause her the most exquisite nostalgia. She was sad in advance, and yet at the same time all the happier, doubly happy, for knowing she had recognised her happiness, that it was not slipping by her unheeded, for knowing that she was creating for herself a past". Jerusalem The Golden by Margaret Drabble

I read out this poem I wrote, to my son Andrew and he suitably called it Brexit

Friends I have made; friends I have kept and friends I have loved.

Friends who have left and I ask why.

Friends who made me sad,

because I wanted more than they gave.

Friends who remain,

Others I have lost.

I have friends.