Howling at the Moon

The moonlight filters through the tall trees,
Signaling the time that I shall rise.
There are no sounds other than the sleeping honey bees,
But there isn't anything that should give me surprise.

I spotted a rabbit nestled in its borrow unaware of its close demise,
So I quickly and accurately made the kill.
I carried it in my jaws as a worthy prize
Up to the lonely, black hill.

I was satisfied as I sat stone still.
The moon was bright, but the sun will come soon,
So I tilted my head back and with precise skill
Let out a single note meant for howling at the moon.

I never heard the birds flying with despair,
But I did hear a single gunshot crack throughout the air.