Whistle in My Rime

A brief description of Winter and poem for Verse of Estoria

When the blizzard calls,
No one catches me-
So I fall, fall, fall,
Alone-
Far Gone.
Encased-
In the prison of my rime,
Who will hear me this time
As I whistle for help?

My blue lips can barely
Move and my frame is
Losing the will to pump
More white blood to my veins.

If only someone would have caught me,
I could have melted in his warm embrace-
I could have touched his face.

As I whistle for help, I wonder,
Where did my twin go?