Here's my effort:
Walking 'round in my winter coat
one time more than I hoped I would,
it occurred to me that seasons should
change like channels on TV,
not like stations on the radio,
cold static bleeding over into the sweet
melodies of warmer times.
Yet signs of victory abound,
despite defiant wintry gasps:
trees show signs of verdant green
and some bold ones even sport blooms;
the grass is showing signs of life
and flowers have unearthed themselves.
As I gaze on the fledgling leaves
presenting trees in the manner
of Monet, with delicate flecks of emerald
seeming to dance before my eyes,
I glimpse the blue beyond the grey
of clouds threatening rain over my head,
and dream of days not long from now
when warmth will win, the winter dead.