Winter the ill-appeased Bride

We have snow in december this year,
surprising, I know.
It has come and gone
come and gone
and come again.
The last four days it has drifted down
in steady clusters of fluffy flakes.
Painting the scenery with dashes of white.
The evergreen limbs weighed down with its white mass,
the deciduous trees clothed once more
after letting their leaves fall long ago.
The air is crisp and fresh.
It should be such a pretty sight,
and it would be if I was not so far-sighted.
Everyone is enchanted with winter,
like husband with his new bride.
But it won't be long before
the incessant nagging,
of storms and squalls,
of shoveling and stripping off hot coats
that they will become despondent
and give up on her high maintenance,
they will long for spring and summer,
the loves of their youth.
The ones who required little,
the ones who only  punished occasionally
with a heat wave or flood.
They will wish their mouths had never mouthed,
"I wish it would snow already."