Groundhog Poems - Poems about Groundhog

If you don’t play the big three There’s no way You should be seen In the final of the WTC That’s what’s been heard Mean baggie greens Have a word Indians chagrin din Simply absurd Stokes bespoke blokes Don’t give a monkeys Run rates slate.. hate Not WTC junkies Ignore the pundits in their pulpits Cryptic critics..cynics clinics Ridicule the cruel schedule South Africa aren’t the culprits ICC flunkies & WTC just...

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Does it matter what you do or matter what you say? Does anything mean anything when you live Groundhog Day? Is there a way to please the Gods so that they’ll let you go? Or maybe there’s no point at all. Perhaps it’s just a show. But what else can you do if you find you’re stuck in this scene. You have to just keep...

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In v formation loud honking proves geese are back happy groundhog day...

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Phil saw his shadow I was hoping not darn groundhog ...

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Sunday February 2nd, 2025 Groundhog Day Location: Gobbler's Knob in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania. First held on February 2, 1887 prognosticating how many more weeks of winter weather without a shadow of a doubt. Aforementioned site chosen for Groundhog Day because German immigrants settled there and brought the tradition of predicting the weather with a groundhog. Already noticeably marked increase...

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you have confused us tricking us into springtime when snow is still here...

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A mild spell in winter. Groundhogs have escaped from their slow dreams. The hedgerow confirms, their wide-hipped shuffling as they grub for vittles. Evening brings one whistle pig to February lawns. Yet the snow will return, the whimper in the breeze, will resurrect itself as a howl. Hey, back to sleep mother groundhog! Keep the den warm, small blind eyes are already sensing, a home...

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All weathermen cried, "This just isn't fair," When groundhog refused to exit his lair Because he had heard, Up here is absurd And face this weird world, he's too scared to dare....

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Groundhog day 2024 or Forty one days since 2023 Winter Solstice Rather than be a day late and dollar short, I opted to post poem acknowledging the second of February, where eponymous groundhog gets his (most often male) foretelling whether there will be six more weeks of winter upon oblate spheroid generating hoopla whether spring will arrive early and satiate those folks who...

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Groundhog promised he would never oversleep again. On February second they sent out the annoying wren. He could not rouse groundhog from his slumber. So Mom and Dad went over, in a wagon-lumber. They made as much noise as they dared outside. Finally going into his bedroom and shaking his hide. Groundhog was irritated and terribly grumpy too. I think it was...

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I feel like it's a consistent cycle that keeps repeating over and over Consistent disappointments from my mother You somehow make your little girl who's not such a little girl feel like a little girl again Consistent disappointments from my friends How come you forget I exist until today, my birthday? Consistent disappointments from my lovers How come you...

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The date of the celebration (the second day of February) coincides with medieval feast of Candlemas, and its pre-Christian predecessor, Imbolc, a day also rich in folklore. An old Scottish prophecy foretells sunny weather on Candlemas means a long winter. The tradition is recounted in this poem: As the light grows longer The cold grows stronger If Candlemas be fair and bright Winter will have another flight If...

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Groundhog Day What is it they say? If he sees his shadow, six more weeks of winter Should we let something like this become a hinder After all, this started as a Pennsylvania Dutch superstition Who thought of this proposition Was this used for farmers to seed their fields and grow crops If it was I have...

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After your butterfly alighted my dreams, I never forgot your kiss, You became the object of my vespers, The refuge for my injured toiling chest. I await your spectacle, your curtain call. Your fragile teasing dance. Like Groundhog Day, I predict your fluttering Wings, the wavy flurry of your bowstrings, Again and again. What wonder comes next? Are you counting...

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Who knows just how he met his end? I found him floating in my pond. Swollen, bloated abdomen; the rest off to the Great Beyond. The weather has been hot and dry; the pond: a bit of water there. He may have jumped; poor little guy. Smooth-sided walls became a snare. Suppose that I should shed a tear; forgive me if I do...

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