Broken and torn from the fight
I lay on the rock until last light
My enemy had come straight in
And our swords met in the battle din
The feud was old as was the sin
When we met that day and it was all in
We needed to settle the score once and for all
As we duelled across the mountain pass mull
Our broadswords clashed as the sparks flew
And there were times when each got on top too
As our followers gathered in the gathering gloom
I was able to beat the other one down under the moon
I pushed him down to the large rock and with a final blow
Disarmed him with his broadsword flying through the air and go
I stood with the point of my broadsword at the other's throat
But the other one had one last trick to play and to gloat
From a top of the hill an arrow came and and pierced my arm
And I was spun around with my broadsword knocked from harm
So the other one rolled and ran away leaving me on the ground
Now I lie on the rock pondering how he was no longer around.
© Paul Warren Poetry
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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