image from Hope at pinterest.com
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Beneath the oak’s gnarly boughs, a squirrel puffs his furry brows. He stands upon his hindmost toes and clears his throat—then strikes a pose. ‘tis February 2d, and he’s perched so proud, On fence post high, he squints at clouds. No winter's end! he chirps with glee~ A squirrel convinced that he's Phil. Listen! he decrees,I’m more than a treetop thief I am the Seer! The Weather Chief! Behold my shadow—short or tall— I prophesize for one and all! The groundhogs just scoffed, You’re a joke! A squirrel can't predict—what a bloke! Your tail's far too puffed, Your logic is stuffed— The other squirrels ignored his act, too busy burying things intact. Yet Phil persisted, year by year, a furry fraud who had no fear.
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