Dueling Mist

In misty veil, 'neath moon's pale glow,
Two duelists face where shadows grow.
Their sabres gleam with cold, sharp light,
Preparing for a fateful fight.

The fog, a shroud both thick and white,
Enfolds the night in eerie blight.
Yet in this gloom, the spirits glide,
Their ghostly forms drift side by side.

Eyes of spectres, hollow, cold,
Bear witness to the scene unfold.
Their whispered sighs, a chilling breath,
Foretell the clash of life and death.

Blades clash with a metallic ring,
A dance of death their weapons bring.
Each thrust and parry, swift and bright,
A testament to skill and might.

Ghostly onlookers, silent, stare,
Their forms entwined in spectral air.
They watch the mortal struggle play,
Till dawn dispels the night away.

At last, one falls, the duel is done,
A victor stands, the other gone.
The mist absorbs the mournful cries,
As ghosts retreat 'neath dawning skies.