The John Moore Bench


The John Moore bench that isn’t me

Whose middle name begins with E

Who must have come here just like me

And seen the things that I can see

On leaden afternoons


This John Moore who isn’t me

Whose middle name begins with E

Whose wooden bench now welcomes me

Did he die at The Royal Free

And is that fate awaiting me?


And was he once a blue-eyed child

A little shy, a little sad

Who never understood the world

And wouldn’t like it if he had?


And did he dream of towering seas

And jagged cliffs, and ancient trees

And did he die at The Royal Free

And is that fate awaiting me? We’ll see


But wrapped against despondent air


Did he gaze without despair

And wait until the evening lights came on?

Then did he stand, then did he leave

Turning from The Royal Free

Knowing that the magic hour had gone?