She is dying.

Your mistress is pale
And you've held her hand tight
Her eyes, opaque and frail
But you tirelessly spend the night
Peeping in them,
Looking for the lost starlight.

Your mistress is prone
She has given up to decease
But your misery has grown
There's a conflict in the breeze-
To be exultant for the mistress,
Or to cry to the master's aridities.

Your mistress faintly sings
To you, of love, a prose
Its her dying smile that brings
One beneath your nose
And when you don't feel her pulse
Its time to lay the rose.

She is dying.
To a world worthier, flying.

For many years we have stood side by side
Unthinkable to contemplate your loss
If you should leave, bereft we would abide
And both of us must count the heavy cost
We have not always been the best of friends
I know you feel our union was forced
But all those ****** battles had to end
Since then do our achievements count for nought?
The whole is better than the sum of parts
Oh Caledonia, it's up to you
Is our historic partnership to last
Or do we have to bid a friend adieu
  By voting, not by battle you decide
  Remain, or by the claymore sever ties