For many a trouble
I have the same cure:
I take myself off
For a walk on the moor
If mildly upset
I stride without stopping
To gaze at the crag
Which is Roseberry Topping
If feeling quite down
With emotional pain
I march to the Fryups
Through Fairy Cross Plain
And once, in a fury,
In cold storms of hail
I covered some mileage
In Arkengarthdale
I haven’t done yet,
But I think that I will
March to the height
Of the pub at Tan Hill
Though I’m getting much calmer
Now reaching old age
And I might do a walk
Without feeling a rage