Three Doves, Dead in Madison

I watched a dying dove

Gulp itself toward oblivion.

Counting sheep before the great big sleep 

From a four storie dream 

Cracking hatchlings. 

I have stood with death, 

Five hundred times.. 

And with great certitude I can state:

"I would rather flee the nest, 

Than grow feathers, and fly,

For the thought that I saved, hath tried. 

And the better I throw, those fettered goals,

I soar under the fluttering weight of trial."