Out of the night that covers ‘May’
Black as the Pit from poll to poll,
She thanks whatever gods maybe
For her unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of EU’s stance
She has not flinched nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
May’s head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of ‘No Deal’
And yet the menace of two years
Finds, and shall find, no deal ideal.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments EU’s scroll,
‘May’ is the Master of her fate:
‘May’ is the Captain of her soul.