Early just this morning I woke from sleep to see
A fox stole from my garden the skull of a sheep
Perhaps to Hamlet over, returned it to their keep
A trench-veined garden allotment up the street
In April and May, all night they scream and screech
With child or for a mate, the fox the first banshee
To soften up its gristly meat
I had left the skull submerged in bleach
We took it back from Sligo’s Yellowstrand beach
As a memento mori, of our inimitable deaths to teach
Alas, the point of extraction we never reached
Snatched by teeth, I hope that meat fox family feeds.
Alchemisland 
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