Classic Poem

On outskirts of the woods of thought
B saw A bow his head
to mourn the death of one B sought ...
and found himself was dead.

A dug one grave for corpse and man.
And turned aside to laugh.
But when B rose to dig, A ran
upon B with the staff,

which B had cut A when it leaved
(though it ran blood, not sap)
There was no combat. They both grieved,
fallen, across the dead man's lap.