At the end of our study of The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood (by Howard Pyle) in Medieval Literature, I offered students the opportunity to write a poem for dear old Robin. The only limitation for the assignment was to say something about our beloved Robin’s death in one of the lines. Oh, and the poem had to be at least three stanzas comprised of 10 lines each. The following poem was written by one of the brightest students in my class at Coram Deo Academics, which is a homeschooling adjunct.
- Robin Hood’s Tomb
The Life and Times of Robin Hood
By Katherine Miller
Robin Hood’s dead!
What more can I say?
He died a sad death,
Rather than see a new May.
It wasn’t his fault.
It was that of treachery,
In the house of some nuns.
Yes, in the nunnery!
‘Twas his cousin who did it.
A fiend so cruel,
Well, she couldn’t hide him!
Her poor nunnish head
Would be severed for sure!
You see, Robin Hood, good,
Was in trouble with King,
For Robin liked Sherwood,
And preferred to sing!
Oh, the life Robin led!
With many a scare,
But a story for all!
The short and the fair!
He stole from the rich,
To give to the poor,
More “borrow,” he’d say,
But we all know what for!
And Little John, tall,
With a temper for sure,
But nothing like Tuck’s
A grouch who lived in a moor!
And sweet Allan a’ Dale!
Ah, the voice of a lark!
But where was his wife?
Why, mentioned at the start!
His life was exciting,
Oh, yes, for sure!
He robbed many fat friars
And one skinny one more.
What could Robin do
when outlawed so long?
Well, kill all the king’s deer!
What else would he do?
He knew the bad Sheriff,
A chum, you could say,
But only one-sided,
For Robin Hood may . . . .
The Sheriff was grouchy,
Robin Hood was a pain!
He could no longer go out
Without being robbed once again.
Hood was a good bow,
Too good, you might say,
For with every bull’s eye
His head became a balloon in the sky.
Lincoln green was his color,
That’s all he would wear!
He dashed about in green tights,
He scared the King’s men far from there!
And how far they would run!
But nobody knew if they ran
From his tights or his toes!
For little curled toes,
That’s what his shoes showed;
Sometimes they were called:
The Curly’s of woes!
But Robin Hood died.
Boy, what a tragic tale.
It would be great fun!
If his cousin wasn’t such a pill.
But it is all done.
His merry men cried,
And now I cry too,
For Robin Hood died.
But I must say, “Farewell!”
For there is no more to tell.
© by Katherine Miller (February 11, 2013), All Rights Reserved.
Carmina ad Gloriae Dei 