Walking in a Wintry Wave of White

A post for the weather:
I wrote a poem for every season and although I guess we have been in winter here for a while, it only seems to hit me now. I suppose it's the snow.
The flying, floating snow that falls on us all and the way that it landed and latched onto the hood of my coat. It created a crown of sorts, a band that froze along the edge, its iciness and the way each flake clung to my coat made another layer between me and the elements.

Snow Day! A winter wonderland which is cold and sharp

I think I wrote the poem because there was this archetypal list that explained what each concept generally meant and winter had a more negative connotation, something about sadness I think. Although, this is not necessarily what it has to be in writing or in life for I quite enjoy the winter months.
Poems can be written in the best of times or the worst, perhaps if you walk through the world with your eyes open, you might find inspiration from all of life.

Winter

Let the first flakes of this time,

fall out of the sky,

when feelings are sour limes,

and inevitably die.

The cold hard truth,

that makes hot tears fall fast,

people bold and uncouth,

making sure bonds never last.

That first they were your friend,

then your one true love,

that the relationship came to an end,

and out flew the dove.

That they were the shoulder you went to,

when you needed to cry,

and now because of them you’re feeling quite blue,

and need another shoulder on which to lie.

Now is the time when the earth goes to sleep,

and everything burrows in deep,

because the heaviness of the sky,

weighs on them so

and the weight of it makes them feel low