Grey and wet,
A soggy Sidmouth
Greets the stalwart Sunday trippers,
Peering out
Through steamed up windows,
Squinting now through windscreen wipers.
Visitors
With gay umbrellas
Scan the grim Edwardian villas,
Images
In puddle pictures;
Scenic vistas bleached of colour.
Stormy night
Leaves sand and pebbles,
Displaced beach huts, upturned tables.
Biting wind
Meets battling walkers.
Ice cream parlours long deserted.
Remind me,
What was the attraction
Of this seaside town in Devon?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
so vividly described, what a great job of making a picture in my mind. I feel like I was there.