Mate in three moves

In misty morning
The second and he
Trudged out to meet the doom
That had been arranged
A duel to fill one tomb
And decide the right

He crossed swords with his
Per the honor code
Then struck by sweeping low
The rogue hopped back as
He continued his flow
With a forward thrust

The strike pierced to the
Deflected by ribs
His foe let loose a moan
As he flicked back and
Stabbed where buttons are sewn
Over softer flesh

Copyright © 2016 Jonathan Hart
#songwrds #writing #poetry

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