Poem of the cold and of tired thoughts.

Silk pours over me from the window.
Feminine.
Nature is beauty, mine.

An intrusion of the songbirds sunrise reverie.
Dizzy and precocious, of a tree top
born.
A mirror of stagnation in only, such is,
thought.
Nature is beauty mine.

An appealing little piece

“Nature is beauty, mine.” - My thoughts exactly
“… such is the nature of thought.” - a mirror to itself, means i am the idea of myself.
Thoughts rule the world and one day, when circumstance is perceived as mere reflection (when thoughts tire?), they will rule themselves.

Write still.