Girls in short clothes
Still go by.
But, the pubs are all closed
And I
Feel the unreal, steal
Over England.

One should not
Shake a hand.
But the weather is hot
And girls in short clothes
Go by.
But the pubs are closed
And I
Voice the unspoken,
“How many little communities will reopen?
And how many die?”.

The pub is part
(And sometimes the heart)
Of local society.
How much variety
Will we lose?
Its not merely booze
But birds of diverse feather
Coming together,
Through diversity in unity.

I have the park.
But thoughts dark
Come to me.
Girls in short clothes
Still go by
But the pubs are closed
And variety
Can, so easily die.