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?