Sparring

Two Cuts, four cuts upon my skin.
The foe before me, his name is Sen.
Hands thrust down I make the slash.
A futile effort, the blade flies passed.
"You're much better," his voice calls,
as my weak knees begin to fall.
On the ground I look up.
It's over now, I've reached defeat.

A moment's pass,no two,three weeks.
We meet again, sword in hand,
face to face we now stand.
The first move, he makes,
a step to the right and a slash with all his might.
With raised arms I make the block,
and our blades collide.
I take the chance and turn the tide.
Pushing back, he stumbles over.
Lunging forward, I cut his shoulder.
Wounded and shocked, his arms fall.
"You have lost," I now call.
With sheathed swords we bow to each other.
Once weak, now stronger than his brother.

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