A violent poem about winter

Winter, I write, if you ever want to see
your precious snowflakes again, meet me at the mall,
and bring spring.
Ha-ha, I think, now Winter, now you will melt,
and then I think you should go die in a hole,
Winter. I wait at the mall; it was never my intention to return Winter's snowflakes.
I hide behind the plants, in the food court;
I club winter over the head and throw
Winter in the plant.
I slip a bag over Spring's head.
My plan had worked, finally.
I had kidnapped spring.

By Olivia, grade 8