Mourning Dove

 Mourning dove, but mourning? Mourning doves learn queasiness early, they are very alert. The notion of danger, of something not quite right, fires the rocket of their flight. The world is just the edge of nothing, the ace and deuce of super place. In that balls to the wall moment when something of what nature sends dove flying, wings whistle a strong rocket tune. The action inside action finds expression. The sound of mourning is a chosen containment, like you could make this stuff up. People listen to the ludicrous spruce of eulogy, nodding their heads in concert. Mourning dove instead chooses the bullet of flight that finds assay in time. Do you like the endless speech of staring at death while making up life? Mourning dove goes to the moment of attention where verbs brilliantly exist. The one noun in life must know something.