Butterflies used to float near the valley
Where I saw a groundhog
Staring at me as if it saw a ghost
I’m only human
And I was surprised to see you also
Back in Toronto days
Your mouth like groundhog day,
ever repeating the same melody
sang out of tune.
But I'm the Bill Murray learning
that every time has to be different
or you just living
your weak dreams.
Your just a lame re-run cancelled after
the second episode,
but you think you famous cos people
recognise you for the wrong reasons.
Laughing behind your back.
Your girl has had more rubber in
her than burnt out tires on the street.
Telling you she was saving it for you,
should've been a used car salesman.
lying about how many miles
she'd already done.
Ok off subject,
You were yesterday never today..
Always thinking you a star,
but you shooting across
And I'm burning you up.
Ye bright for a moment,
then you just nothing.
But ash that I flick off my shoulder.
You dropped and nothing
is going to bring you back.
As you mouths living
a groundhog day.
but that I'm already on tomorrow,
why your mouth living the same *** day.
If I always relived the same day.
The only thing
that I'd never get fed up of seeing
A reminder -
It is still winter,
We are still in the thick of it,
Chains and snowshoes
are still requisite,
Imbolc and Candlemas
are still to pass,
Tarns still as glass,
The tumbling finch song
has yet to be sung,
and even the false spring,
has not yet sprung.
So lie still a while longer,
Let the chill freeze you through,
Warmer days will return
in their own time,
And so will you.
In deep winter’s chill a brief nudge
gets groundhogs, with barely a grudge,
to predict the season,
but I ask, with good reason,
if they differ, who will be the judge?
Something I always wondered.
A charming flank
in think tank went aground today
with an exam that writ a woodchuck
with alarm that studied a course
and back into a hole with a mole
yet in a fir tree there that squeaked
to the fox.
Sleepily and lazily, he makes his way out of the hole that has sheltered him from the cold
As he looks both left and right, does he long to see his shadow, which will send him away into slumber for a little while longer, or does he prefer to lounge in the shade of the day?
To him, the decision will take only but a moment
To reporters, onlookers, and bystanders, only the moment can tell.
The psychiatrist wakes up every morning.
Gets dressed and ready to tackle another day at work.
Puts on his best suit and tie.
Something different, so to not seem repetitive.
Matching shoes, cuff links, the works.
Has his morning breakfast accompanied with a cup of coffee.
Heads out to his occupation while listening to his favorite songs on the radio.
Singing along word for word all the way there.
Greets his receptionist at the front desk and makes his way to his room.
Takes off his coat and hangs it up as he gets ready for the day's appointments.
When his day is over, his mind is dead.
His face emotionless.
His receptionist gone, he has no one to say goodbye to.
His radio is silent on the way home.
Not one tune played.
Not one word uttered.
He arrives to his empty home and tosses his jacket on the floor.
He sits on his living room couch.
And he cries.
Until there's nothing left for his eyes to let go of
He strips, and showers
With the disregard for clothing himself, he falls into bed.
And into a slumber.
— The End —