One morning a fox was found dead
outstretched on the grass
in the park near the church
where we like to walk in fine weather
The fox was as still as the moth-eaten stole
in the charity box of discarded toys
a box in the dark in a corner forgotten
by time and tied up to go to the tip
And the flies were arriving and landing
and looking and flying away
and returning with tentative touches
in the curious fashion of flies.
well crafted Gwilym
ReplyDeletejohn
I'm delighted this is the first time in months that I've been able to comment on your blog for some unknown reason
ReplyDeletejohn
Many thanks for the comment John. I've no idea why you couldn't get on. Have definitely never flagged you as spam.
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