​Ballad to the Pubs’ Re-opening

Is that the open door of a pub?
  Is a night-reveller in there?
Can I go in and get some grub,
  and drink and eat without a care?
I think I’ll have a syllabub,
  and a glass of insobriety,
and in the breath of a fresh hubbub
  I’ll drink to the world’s variety!

The land has been a desert scrub
  in the clutch of a wintry air,
a withered shrub, a dried tree-stub . . .
  which now is transformed everywhere.
This vision of Beelzebub –
  this dry rot in society –
is taken out by a nuclear sub.
  I’ll drink to the world’s variety!

All’s fresh and new – and here’s the nub:
  this shivering state we used to share –
the land of the two-metres snub –
  was in our souls. We did not dare
to clink a glass – ay, there’s the rub
  to a too-prim propriety.
But the wheel’s turning – we’re at the hub –
  I’ll drink to the world’s variety!

Reader, I may be going to blub
  with joy and not anxiety.
Come join me in this old night-club!
  We’ll drink to the world’s variety!