Rhymes

I found a nest in the middle of clouds, 
it is full of hazy utopia. 
It brings to me in the middle of the winter, the heat of the summer. 
Can you show me where to find the 
the way of love, so the body will build there again. 
I write these words doomed, or blessed stories. 
Rhymes in the middle of winter, bridge, point to break down out of the stall. 
My sorrow position lightly, but the love of it 
should my legs in the air, as the wings to fly.