Dear Editor:
There’s a furry little animal
He’s famous far and near,
The folks up there in Wiarton
They hold him very dear.
To you and I we just can’t see
Why they make all the fuss.
He’s just a rodent after all
And don’t mean much to us.
But so it seems to all the folks
That live there in the town,
That the prediction he will bring
Is always true and sound.
He’s just a groundhog like the rest, Except his fur is white
Do they really think his color
Makes his forecast right?
He’ll predict both good and bad;
Early spring or snow.
For when it comes to weather folks, there’s nothing he don’t know.
There’s other groundhogs through the land,
That reach a height of fame
Predict the weather to a T
Or so their folks all claim.
But folks in Wiarton all think
Willie’s best bar none.
And when predictions really count, Old Willie’s number one.
And so we all wait patiently
For groundhog day to come;
And wonder where on Earth he gets His information from.
Every year we wonder what
Will his prognosis bring;
Six more weeks of winter or
A warm and early spring.
What makes us put our faith and hope, In Willie’s every word?
He’s half asleep and nearly froze, To trust him is absurd.
But to be fair in his defence,
He sometimes gets it right.
He hits the nail right on the head
Much to the town’s delight.
And then we all are so amazed
And proud of what he said.
Does he have a special brain
Inside that tiny head?
We dig out all the garden tools
For Willie must be right,
Brush and clean off all the dirt
Till they’re all shinny bright.
Look at all the flowers now
This season is the best
Tulips daffodils galore
Old Willie passed the test.
But sometimes Willie gets it wrong, And winter throws a curve.
We’re mad at Willie once again;
Where does he get his nerve?
Where’s the flowers Willie dear,
Why doesn’t something grow?
What happened to our early spring? Just look at all the snow.
We still wear our winter coats
As wind whips from the north,
We trusted you the day you brought your wrong prediction forth.
I think the cold on groundhog day made Willie kind of numb;
He and the mayor must have had
A little nip of rum.
The word of any groundhog is a lesson sadly learned.
He should be tarred and feathered, just as far as I’m concerned.
You went and filled our heart with hope, we thought we could rely; You missed it by a mile though, you told a big fat lie.
You made a great big boo boo and it’s hurting your career;
But we’ll forgive you one more time, So better luck next year.
Lyn Hunter,