• Blades clash,
    and sparks fly,
    forever the sweetest,
    of any lullaby.

    Laughter rings,
    with every clash,
    another dance,
    another slash.

    What can be told,
    from two men alone?
    Who have not but skill,
    to learn and to hone?

    The battle blazes on,
    as sometimes they do,
    this with ferocity,
    seen in but few.

    Energy spent,
    the two won't relapse,
    but the sun accompanies,
    the younger's collapse.

    He's done for,
    the steel at his throat,
    life for him was ending,
    on quite a sour note.

    Dark hair pushed back,
    reveals golden eyes.
    Conceit had been veiled,
    his defeat all but lies.

    He twisted, he turned,
    lithe and controlled,
    and to his reputation,
    he'd not fail to uphold.

    The older was dead,
    a relative's cry,
    they'd both been brothers,
    but one had to die.