In the mid-forest's mirk

In the mid-forest's mirk I grope

For the straight way; gloom enhances

Proneness to mope; how may I

Cope? The Morning Star arises:

Christ Jesus our Hope.

Futile words soft-soap; ignes

Fatui distract; no mere dope

Beguiles senses; not toping

On human religion, behold

Christ Jesus our Hope. 

Antelope on my high bluff,

I may lope elegantly

On the King's highway; soon

I shall elope skyward:

Christ Jesus our Hope.

(28/08/2026: on the Newcastle to Edinburgh train!)

Begins with a little reference to Dante:

Midway in the journey of our life

I came to myself in a dark wood,

for the straight way was lost.

Old photos of the Scottish Highlands: I still can't upload new ones.