Whistlepig In Winter

I am the lonely Whistlepig.
In Fall, a gen'rous hole I dig,
Then crawl inside and hunker down,
While snow and ice fall all around.

I drowse away the topside freeze
'Til winter's grip begins to ease,
Then rouse myself to creep upstairs,
To see about the world's affairs.

I am the sole appointed judge
Of when the frosty stuff will budge:
Six weeks to go, if there be sun;
But, much less so, if there be none.

And, having made my tunnelled run,
Why, then, my lonely job is done.