This is a triolet. Just in case you're unfamiliar with this structure, here you go.
Flakes burn fiery hot, heating naive desires,
a proverbial situation lined up in rows.
The three with the one habit they won't yet retire
since they've witnessed the sweet treachery of the snow.
Nights burn out like used cigarettes
and they detour from cold reality to the heat.
Snow gives out guides on how to forget
no matter if the weight is something they'll keep.
Then snow falls for just the minute
and they arrive on the same level of life.
Three persons in the room, as they see it:
The So Rich, the Very Comic, the Doesn't Cry.
From of all the things they request out of life,
the snow keeps visions curiously ripe.