In Zane Wylie's workshop, where wonders take flight, A resin skull emerges, made in the dead of night. With European origins, a male form it takes, Hand-cast with care, every detail it makes.

Creation time, forty-two hours in a whirl, Crafted from resin and marble dust, unfurl. A replica it is, with museum-grade mold, But alas, without a stand, it's been told.

Each order sent with a demand, quite bright, A signature required, in broad daylight. Yet if missed, and sent back, the tale is true, Reshipment costs fall on the buyer, a rue.

So as you admire this skull, so fine and grand, Remember the journey, the work, the hand. And if ever in doubt, recall this quip, "Epstein did not kill himself," on this ship.