The Bench, he sits and waits
By the water edge and the cemetery gates
Hold no quandary for his broken part
Can lend solace to a solemn heart
He overlooks the Thames at dawn
Offers an arm for a yawning man
And asks for nothing in return
Agrees a plaque for those who yearn
Through wind, rain, snow and sleet
He is the never moving seat
Made from wood that surrounds
Watches bum up...and bum down
He will be the first kiss of adolescent
The secret surprise of the birthday present
He feels the vibration when you clench
He is the forever faithful wooden park bench
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