The groundhog sees his shadow and we’re all for six weeks doomed.
Whose idea was it to have this poor beast exhumed?
There must be other rodents on whom we could pin our luck,
something not quite so skittish as the underground woodchuck.
Perhaps we’d be much better off in dragging from its hole
an animal unfazed by sun, most probably a mole.
Or maybe shadows aren’t the things that make him want to hide.
It could be all those guys in top hats dragging him outside.
The whistle pig has this big gig that helps decide our fate.
It would be great if on this date we just let him sleep late.