The Prognosticator of Shadows

A groundhog emerged with a stare,

Surveying the frost in the air.

He blinked at the crowd,

Then chuckled aloud,

“I see it’s still winter—beware!”

They cheered for his rodent decree,

Though doubt lingered quietly.

For year after year,

They lend him their ear,

And still end up snowed to the knee.

Yet maybe that’s part of the charm—

Believing in fur over form.

For when skies are gray,

We’ll laugh anyway,

And wait for the world to grow warm.