The duel

He lay there defeated,
On the wet grass,
His sword at his feet,
Breathing heavily,
Wounds bleeding afresh,
Head throbbing with pain.

He opened his eyes,
In the darkness of the night,
Shadows cast by the moon,
Behind the purple haze,
Stood his towering assailant,
With a smug look on his face.

Groaning in agony, he sat up,
Studied his victor close, and said,
'You are the same, aren't you?
Our swords have met before,
And I have fought my battles best,
Yet why is it that I never win?'

His stolid opponent smiled,
Sheathed his bloody sword,
Donned his coat and hat,
Turned to depart, but paused,
And said, 'Thanks for the invite,
See you next spring.'