by Eric Rosenbloom
The groundhog hides before the sun
Like thoughts we cling to after dawn,
Their tender form yet ripe for day.
The groundhog in her burrow stays
Until the light is also warm
To nurture little cubs yet born.
The mind awakens to the sun
Like flies between the window panes
To buzz and slough the winter’s chill.
Enticing, so much light, and yet
It blinds and enervates
And sets again and leaves us cold.
New life begins in winter’s midst
But wary of the cheerful sun
The groundhog in her burrow stays.