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There is a legend grown tattered and old,
Extolling the virtues of a knight so bold,
The gravest of perils brought a twinkle to his eye;
While shafts from his bow would unerringly fly.

Dashing and romantic, skillful and brave,
He fought the poor and weak to save.
His prowess was mighty, his aim sure;
His heart was noble and his motives pure.

Trained in war, and bloodied in battle,
Nerves of steel, not easy to rattle.
Outlawed by "nobles" yet virtuous and kind;
For justice and fairness he ceaselessly pined.

His forest exploits are still chronicled today,
Detailed in book and movie, satire and play.
Legend has it when injustice has grown too great,
Sir Robin will return to wipe clean the slate.

They say legends are based upon a kernel of truth;
Though this one grows hoary and long in the tooth.

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