I have written a poem about snow. And, to prove it, here it is. I hope you enjoy it.

Cool and patient
I stand at the station
waiting for the commuter train which may or may not come.
The 7.54 has been cancelled
some say there’s still hope for the 8.17.

I’m cool. I’m patient.
I’ve been here too make any quick alterations,
too long for any big deviations.

Snow is falling,
gentle as a lover’s little finger stroking the back of my neck
which, through some sort of El Nino effect,
causes a loudspeaker to blast a harsh message
announcing the suspension of passenger services.

Shoulders slumped, curses muttered,
the wage slaves shuffle out
barking into phones about working from home
and when I’m left on the platform all alone
bend to gather a handful of snow
make a soft, sweet ball
take aim
and have a throw.