The Men of MIlltown Mourn this Morn;
Their groundhog, Mel, is dead.
Like Betty White, he couldn’t stay;
(she left last month, you might have read).
Prognosticate the springtime? Nah.
Our hearts are cold as stone.
When flowers bloom, we’ll still be “blah”
We’ll still hear winter’s moan.
Why chill and not the warmth of spring?
The mercury IS rising.
Perchance heat to the heart might bring
An end to frost despising.
End of COVID – Stop the Hate;
Might help more than a groundhog.
You think he saw that? Knew his fate?
Then wrote his epilogue:
Look here, my brother, sister, mother…
What’s 6 more weeks after this other?
defying atrophy 