Runaway

Hidden deep in the frozen wood,
Bones aching dully with cold,
He shivers as the torchlight
Sweeps the churchyard,
Lingering on grey headstones,
Then flicking to a rusty padlock
Fastening firm the stout wooden door.
The light jumps and shudders as it
Traces a startled hare, his flight
Hampered by the thick crunch of snow.
The crack of shot shatters the silence.
Mid-bound, the hare jerks upwards,
Becoming a bloody, mangled mess.
Laughing, the man reloads his rifle,
Then turns his face towards the trees.