Dead Sheep Poem

This morning we saw sheepskin rugs
Outside the craft shop in the village.

Now we've found one on the hillside,
Soft and creamy-white among the thistles,

Cushioning a rib-cage and a line
Of vertebrae, laid out like stepping-stones.

Nine feet away, the skull
and jawbone, clean as carved ivory.

Crows and maggots cleared off long ago --
The person with the notebook has arrived.

--Wendy Cope

That's from If I Don't Know, which I picked up for lunabee34's poetry jam, but only managed to read just now.