Dave Bonta's short poem catches a moment in a heavy snowstorm. The park has vanished into a white-out, and instead of complaining about it, the speaker greets the snow almost like a welcome visitor. The snow arrives "to lick and play," as if it were an animal or a child, something lively and a little mischievous.
The last lines make the poem's turn. The snow becomes "an instrument I have / so longed for." That's a surprising comparison, and it suggests the storm is something the speaker can listen to or make music with, perhaps through the hush of falling flakes or the way a blizzard changes how a place sounds. The poem doesn't spell this out, so the idea stays open.
The mood is quiet, delighted, and a bit wondering. There's a sense of long waiting finally rewarded, and of the speaker feeling lucky to be caught in the weather rather than shut away from it.