Robin Hood hero,
legend, myth or man?
Lived in merry England,
the Shire of Nottingham.
He led a band of bandits
who, defied Prince John.
Outlaws, who outwitted him
his whole life long.
Thieves yet, ever loyal
to King Richard
then crusading far from home.
It became these robbers mission
to keep the scheming John
from ascending Richard's throne.
Stealing from the rich and greedy
giving to the poor and needy.
It's no wonder they became
heroes in the people's name.
So they stole and gave away,
All the prince's treasures
they gathered every day.
And gave them unto those with less,
who hungered so for bread.
They gave them unto those refused,
in order they'd be fed.
And so, the hour was brightened
with hope of justice yet, to come,
Stealing back what had been taken,
by a Prince's sticky thumb.
This daring band of robbers gave
the fruit of hope and cheer,
Spread its riches widely
to the neglected far and near.
They were the heroes
of a now, forgotten time.
They were but, the poorer men
who kept the rich in line.
And all the needy championed them,
their leader and their cause.
It seems that Sherwood green and bow
was all the hope there was.
So, Robin Hood in suit of green
and pointy feathered hat
And Friar Tuck in robes of brown
and jolly stomach fat,
You were but the heroes of a time,
when men had so much less,
though you in turn were forced to steal,
in the name of rightfulness.
Little John with staff
gripped tightly in his hand,
Wandered o'er the troubled time,
a giant on the land.
And he be known both far and wide,
as a man of strength and might,
A big cool clear eyed boy, it seemed,
who feared to no man fight.
And so it was Robin, Tuck, and John
who fought the poor man's fight,
Who slipped away from dangers,
caught Prince John's greedy might,
Who knew the forest far and wide
and every turning tree,
Every road, forgotten path,
came down these hooded three.
And now, an age remembers them,
their courage and their wrong,
Their misbegotten gains and deeds,
their merry men, their song.
For though they were indeed, not right,
to do so as they did,
One can't help but sympathize
with these men,
who ran and hid.
Doing what they felt was just,
what they felt was right,
One cannot help but feel their wrongs
were no wrong'er than their plight.
For they were true believers
in their country and they're cause,
And so I guess, they were not wrong,
their time was what it was.
A page torn from the castle's place,
the emperors way to be,
To take and keep and want much more
from those who poorer be.
So, hooded villains dressed in green,
hiding in the wood,
Right or wrong or in-between,
I think I understood,
That circumstance makes men appear
as something they'd soon not,
Both time and trouble makes them do,
things they'd rather not.
How jolly is the wooded green,
how merry this your age?
But, for now we'll close the chapter,
turn its battered page.
And thank you for adventures lived,
time and time again,
And dreamt, and dreamt o'er and o'er
by children Now and Then.
By Linda A. Copp
©April 10, 1970