There once was a small fox family
that lived in roots of large oak tree
nearby Medieval built Cathedral Town,
where they could watch the goings-on
at village church and graveyard, yon,
observing human tasks from dusk 'til dawn.

Renard was oldest, father fox.
His wife, Fiona's crimson locks,
were his most prized and cherished attribute,
but not more loved than their son Tod,
a playful boy, who would maraud
the local vineyard - Church's precious fruit.

This annoyed the Bishop!

Deprived of wine, the Bishop prayed,
like Solomon's similar raid,
"Lord, catch the foxes that ruin the vineyard."
With that some deadly traps were set,
where Tod was caught within a net.
Then killed by hunters. Body left to disregard.

Fiona was beside herself!
Renard had lost his mental health,
and these became the couple's darkest days.
But once they both regained their nerves,
determined their son's death deserves
to be respected, just like human ways.

This involved the Bishop.

Back in those days, a fox could talk.
Renard was soon induced to walk
to obtain a burial for his son
within the local cemetery,
complete with sacred ceremony.
As such befits a most beloved one.

The fox achieved an interview
with Bishop, firm in Pontiff's pew,
who said, "Dear friend, you must be too confused.
No foxes can be buried here!
The Catechism's words are clear --
Just humans, sacred grounds. Request refused!"

Thus invoked the Bishop.

Fiona and Renard were mad.
The situation very sad.
They put forth a magical inclination.
If humanity is required,
they had the means that were desired,
for foxes were well known for transformation.

Renard changed Tod into a boy.
Required further for this ploy
were artifacts of Christianity.
Such things were needed to be found
for access onto sacred ground.
Deception had become a certainty --

to hoodwink the Bishop

So into church the couple drew,
to search each corner, every pew,
and there they found a holy locket chain.
Then, in the village, out to dry,
a peasant's garments, foxes spy.
So into pocket, locket chain was lain.

Tod's body later, gotten dressed,
when found where roads crossed east and west,
was taken to the local undertaker.
No relatives at all respond.
Considered Christian vagabond.
Consigned to cemetery pauper's acre.

To be blessed by Bishop.

So, one fine morning, it was done.
To satisfy most everyone,
a small procession exited the church,
that carried a small wooden box.
Inside it was the transformed fox.
Unseen, its true identities emerge.

And on a tree nearby the site,
two foxes watch it with delight.
Tod buried with all proper dignity,
will hence be mourned with loving cries,
each evening as the twilight dies,
to echo now throughout eternity,

and heard by the Bishop.