To Vienna by Train

All is snow and icy mist,
the jagged fists of hills
and rising mountains blurred,
just grey shapes, their pine
coats glistening with snow that lays
thick on the foothills and fields,
so only tall fences and trees
poke through. The mountain rivers
fight to flow through thick mantles
of ice. The mountain towns
are smothered, orange tiled roofs
snag with snow, church spires
disappear in the mist; only a
few people bother to shovel.
Most sit inside around fires.
The smoke spirals up.