Well, it's not a photograph so perhaps it won't do. Nevertheless...
Out of the Picture
When Holman Hunt was painting
His celebrated goats,
The wretched beasts were fainting
Inside their shaggy coats.
With no hats or umbrellas
To shield them from the sun
Those sorry little fellers
Deceasing – all but one.
The Scapegoat is the live goat,
The dead goats out of frame.
Yet they are there; the trembling air
Remembers just the same.
My soul is an enchanted goat
The poet Shelley nearly wrote
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