Soot darkened ***** drizzled damp sandstone
    grey like depression.
Dull ochre leaves squelch wetly under foot
    rotting and foetid.

Scaffolding covers faded elegance
    dims its fame.
Water trickles down umbrellas, hats and
    drenched clothes

Cars spraying water over the pavement
    saturates pedestrians:
soaked blue jeans stick to frozen legs,
    soggy like a graveside.

Greasy spoon tipsy waitress swerves
    spilled tea;
cracked cups, saucers and sweet generic cake
    disappoints.

Stove radiates a red smoky welcome
    like a warmed bed.
Crafted draught pints served foamy and savoured
    sparkling and bitter.

Locals drink, eat, play board games and throw darts,
    laugh at the rain.
I read poetry books to my girlfriend
    by the snug fire.

Buxton will be golden again
      when summer comes, and
its octagonal pavilion teem
    with street bustling life.

What I see
    is a reflection of my point of view.