Groundhog emerges from forest,
scurries through tall grass, cute at first
heads for Pine Lake, the western shore
laps choppy water slakes his thirst…
…I pay little attention as
I am hewing a crab apple
tree—the final section, thick trunk
yet unbeknownst to me, the hog
moseys from the shore towards me,
a minor consequence of life
approaching curiosity… For why? He might think, Does he take
the life of tree that hurts no one!
Groundhog, emptying his chatter
scolding me like, What’s the matter?
underground his normal byway…
…now, it seems, he comes directly
with his old instinctive passion
traverses the road of gravel,
I lay down my electric chainsaw
watch the hog advance to fencing,
communicates, he has his say.
I am nothing more than shrugging
I cannot in conscious argue;
yet my feelings seem assuaging—
groundhog then returns to hiding.
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