The second month, the second day,
We know is Groundhog's Holiday.
The keeper of the local zoo,
Photographers, reporters, too,
Anxiously await together
Woodchuck's forecast of the weather.
Each year this time he leaves his hearth,
His home beneath good Mother Earth.
He wiggles out to see the sun
And sure enough - ask anyone-
Should he perchance his shadow see,
Back to his home again he'll flee.
And that sign's still the surest thing
Six weeks must pass before it's spring!
-Unknown
