The Groundhog

My father founded his company on February 2, so ever since, Groundhog Day has been a big deal in our family for exchanging cards and letters. One year I found this poem somewhere.

The groundhog is, at best, a simple soul
Without pretension, happy in his hole,
Twinkle-eyed, shy, earthy, coarse-goated grey,
No use at all (except on Groundhog Day).
At Christmas time, a rather doubtful fable
Gives the beast standing room inside the stable
With other simple things, shepherds and sheep,
Cows, and small winter birds, and on the heap
Of sun-sweetened hay, the simplest thing
Of all - a Baby. Can a groundhog sing,
Or only grunt his wonder? Could he know
This new-born Child had planned him, long ago,
For groundhog-hood? Whether true tale or fable,
I like to think that he was in the stable,
Part of the plan, and that He who designed
All simple wonderers, may have had me in mind.

~Luci Shaw