I was writing  me a poem

About the Harvest Moon

And then I realized 

That it’s November 

And the moon is now the Beaver Moon

And that Beavers are wet and Cold

And often Stink

Even though like all animals 

They are lovely 

And like all animals

Get Trapped/Hunted Down

At night

Under the  moonlight

A thought came to me that

If God were to arm All Animals

The Hunters could become the Hunted