February Ides
Roman Empire eats its own
Old Pope’s Home breaks ground
Have you hugged a puppy today?
Author: donaldlindsey
The Tale of Robin Hood
Finally, a third poem surrounding the life and death of Robin Hood and His Merry Men, one composed by Ellen Miller. I am blessed by some brilliant students in my Medieval Literature class at Coram Deo Academics—a homeschooling adjunct located in Owosso, Michigan.
Move over, Phillip Levine! Watch out world! For I have three brilliant academics in my class who will blow the lid off the world of prosody and poesy. I’m happy to be the first to present the works of these fantastic students.
The Tale of Robin Hood
By Ellen Miller
Deep in the heart
Of Sherwood Forest
Many tales have been woven
Of a great man and his band
Of merry followers and friends.
Not all started out as friends:
In fact, barely any at all,
Including me—ah yes, me;
We are now best of friends,
But that was certainly not always so.
We met on a bridge─
A log, more like:
He wanted to pass first,
But I had been there first
(Though he would say opposite).
So we had a quarrel,
A fight ensued;
I had to admit, he wasn’t bad,
But in the end, I knocked him off
With my broad quarterstaff.
After that (believe it or not),
We became best of friends.
This jest was the name he christened me:
“Little John,” how droll,
As I tower above them all.
So many adventures,
The two of us had,
With other merry men,
We made a name for ourselves,
And many good times and memories were made.
Alas—it was not to last,
For Robin Hood, I must say,
Was not loved by all;
This cousin, a nun,
Brought him down by her “healing” hands.
Did I say, “We are now best of friends?”
Make that we were,
For yes, Robin Hood died.
I was with him in his final moments,
And I shall never forget.
He raised his bow;
How he had the strength, I’ll never know,
And he shot one last arrow.
He told me to bury him
Where that last arrow fell.
And so our merry adventures
Came to an end.
But the memories and friendship will last,
And the tale will be told for centuries,
Of one man and his merry band.
Copyright © 2013, Ellen Miller
All rights reserved
Shout About It:
Do Si Do
EARTH AND MOON APPROACH
FACE, SPIN, CIRCLE BACK TO BACK,
AROUND AND AROUND
Shout About It:
The Life and Times of Robin Hood
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 