Hunting around one morning

Earlier than usual, the hunter left

Wishing like always for a full meal

Always shooting shy of his prey

Never getting a good catch

Tiring himself, hands too cold

Evenings spent ritually, with an unfilled hunger

Deep in thought but empty in stomach

From rabbits trailing away to deer’s kicking grass

Of catching nothing yet again, a pain in his ass

One more buck, he attempted to aim

Distinguishing that as his first very lucky day

It’s an acrostic poem, if you look at the first letters of the sentences; it spells out “HE WANTED FOOD”.

Hunting, Deer’s, Rabbits, Rifles, Lucky, Poetry, Acrostic, Hunter, Cold, Unlucky, Bad, Good, Food, Starving