One perhaps does not expect a snow poem by Philip Larkin to be a metaphysical meditation along the lines of Robert Frost's "Desert Places" or Wallace Stevens's "The Snow Man." This is certainly not a criticism of Larkin (who can be, at times, as metaphysical as they come): it simply means that his meditations tend to stay closer to home -- they usually have something to do with getting through the day. Which is no small thing.
Larkin wrote the following poem on February 1, 1976. It is untitled.
Morning at last: there in the snow
Your small blunt footprints come and go.
Night has left no more to show,
Not the candle, half-drunk wine,
Or touching joy; only this sign
Of your life walking into mine.
But when they vanish with the rain
What morning woke to will remain,
Whether as happiness or pain.
Philip Larkin, Collected Poems (Faber and Faber 1988).