May I rest for a while in your barn?
Out in the street hear the running of feet,
'Tis the soldiers of wicked Prince John.
The sheriff might call any time, come back
In a week and perhaps then we’ll see, what
To do about saving your life.
All the rich men of money and gold,
Deep in my heart I know I must impart,
To the needy, the hungry, the old.
Wife’s jewels,’ said the rich man deprived
Of his purse, ‘people in need, hungry
Children to feed,’ he went further, and
Claimed them a curse.
You should see how the people they change,
Doors open wide they salute me with pride,
I'm their saviour, their hero, their saint.
Me, begging only a rest for his head,
Forsooth and gadzooks, I failed branch
And root, turned my back locked the door,
Went to bed.
Fair-weather friends, I’ve got plenty,
It's not much good being Robin Hood,
Deserving souls, one in twenty…
Vote for this poem