Under the shed is a groundhog,
Living without my consent.
Once in a while he emerges;
His presence I’ve come to resent.
Likely he’s dug a deep burrow
And most of the time he’s away.
I don’t think that I can evict him;
It seems like he’s planning to stay.
In previous years we’ve had foxes,
With kits that would frolic and romp,
But this year we’re stuck with a groundhog,
Whose lumbering gait’s more a clomp.
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