Winter is a sketch void of color but sharp and sure.
It is also wispy like bare branches in the wind.
The desolate mood is company to one such as me.
And the white snow is a playful spirit that hides the ground and trips the horizon.
I can clearly hear the moan of no one through falling snow.
Because no one likes to linger in the white shadows.

It doesn't add anything to your poem really. But this here is just my opinion.