She envies those aware that the enemies firing
at them are the adversaries; As her’s
often seem to be spies, once within enemy lines,
trusted with weapons…
Forcing her to stumble towards provoked
changes in course, because–when she doesn’t
see the rug about to be pulled out from under her–
She blames herself for falling.
So one last look at her face green with envy,
As she veils it a violet enveloped with pride.