In olden days some S.O.B.,
Perhaps an evil fairy,
Decided Groundhog Day to be
One day in February.
This furry beast pokes out his head
(At least that is the rumor,
A thought, no doubt, the product of
A old cerebral tumor).
And if the sky be dark and dull,
He yawns and greets the day,
And cheerfully declares that spring
Is just a week away.
But if he's greeted by the sun,
His little nose he tweaks,
And ducks back in to hibernate
At least for six more weeks!
But wise old Yankees won't be fooled
By this infernal bull,
In fact we're pretty sure of what
This Groundhog guy is full.
We know that Feb will freeze your toe,
And March is cold and wet,
And April's snow is slow to go,
And May plays hard-to-get.
So fill you glass, and lift it high,
And toast a great tomorrow,
And should the morrow bode but ill,
T'will serve to drown your sorrow.
By W.E. Dion, Terryville
