DRONE ENVY

Missiles out of the blue
Is a string of pretty sounds,

A whistling in the woods,

In the dark, the park

Preferable to wasting

Alone in a room

On wards designed for it. 

Thus, I envy the ones

We bug-splat,

We liberate

From elderly pain,

And its foot-tapping goodbye. 

Lucky bullseye bastards

Is the way
My impotence sees them.