A Message from Mochi

March, a Poem

It's March again.

I still don't know how to write poems. 

Spring is here, but all I can think of is winter. It was cold. My bones still feel cold. 

I remember the hot cocoa and blankets, the snowflakes on my tongue. They need salt. 

And when it was so frigid my paws froze right off, I was free to nap all day. No nagging friends to tell me otherwise. 

Spring is here, but that means no lazing around. It is a time of change, to grow. To move on from old things, accept the new, or return to long forgotten things. 

I don't like to change very much.

I wish for summer, but winter leers at me, taunting me like stealing candy from a baby and dangling it in front of their face as their tiny hands try to grab at it. 

I rather do think I can write poems. 

My poetry is very good.

Do not question why I know what stealing candy from a baby is like. 

I fell from my couch today.

Slumped on the floor, sneezing on dust. 

It hurt.

The new Kung Fu Panda movie came out. 

Regardless of its quality and meaning towards the franchise, it has pandas. 

This means that it is excellent. 

My opinion is not biased.

But my opinion is sturdy, stubborn. I am a tree in the winter. I may lose my colour, but hibernation keeps me strong. 

When I wake up, it is spring again, and I'm ready to turn my ears to the sun and try to eat the green grass poking through my claws.

Grass does not taste good. 

Neither does change.

But without change, there would be no winter to hide away from, or summer to dream of. 

So I suppose change isn't all that bad. 

It's March again.

Poetry remains a mystery.

Perhaps pandas are better suited without it. 

But, again, I'm stubborn. 

So even if I'm ill-fit, a poet I'll be. 

Mochi out.

Stay cool, stay safe, and above all else,

Stay le panda.