Said the priest in the parish of Brecon,
‘This God thing is finished, I reckon.
I’ll hang up my cassock
And crouch on this hassock
Till fresh opportunities beckon.’

Disillusion is the mother of liberation, it’s often said. But it’s all too easy to ‘crouch’, in passive expectancy, amid the ruins of an outmoded belief system, rather than seeking out – or forging – a fresh one.