Photo Credit: Pexels

Busking in Buxton

Busking in Buxton —

On a warm afternoon

Sharing your music

Playing some tune.

The sun shines right down

And the tourists

They flock

When playing a favourite

No one can knock.

Walking and eating

Drinks down at the pub

Guzzle down beer

Or mouthfuls of grub.

Busking in Buxton —

The smells in the air

Of summertime gardens

Or smoke in your hair.

Busking in Buxton —

The noise swirls around

The sounds of bright chatter

And feet tap the ground.

Busking in Buxton —

Some folk hum along

You strum out a tune

And sing out your song.

Busking in Buxton —

The money rolls in

They throw in a coin

To your metallic tin.

It clinks as it falls

And makes a small rattle

A tour group strolls past

They follow like cattle.

Busking in Buxton —

There are sights to been seen

Hikers and cavers

Dogs wet from the stream

Cars all a beeping

Ice creams, they melt

The countryside air

Is the best that you’ve smelt.

Busking in Buxton —

You sing your last ditty

The sky turns to pink

It is such a pity.

Another great day

In the bustling peaks

Let’s go busking in Buxton

Again, this time next week.

Show your support

Clapping shows how much you appreciated Kate Cubley’s story.