The Owl

This poem is one that I entered in a contest. I hope I win!

A dark shadow flies across the pale moon,
seen only for a second then vanishes again,
sending fear into the minds of those who scurry
on the forest floor at night.
Gliding high above the trees,
an omen of death scanning for victims
upon whom to prey.
One quick move and he's gone,
and so is the mouse that once felt so safe.
Tis' morning, and just like all predators do,
he goes to his burrow to wait out the day,
but when the sun ceases to shine,
you all better fear, for if careful you aren't,
oh you shall see, a flutter of wings,
but then all you will be is a cold heap of bones
lifeless as a blade of grass when the wind does not blow.