Good Robin Hood had lived a fine life
His victories won with bow, arrow, and knife
Of all Merry Men, Sir Robin was surest
beloved by everyone in Sherwood Forest
because he had spent his life robbing the wealthy
ensuring the poor folk would thus remain healthy

His brave Merry Men were always around
to make sure that Robin could yet stand his ground
against any Lord, or Ruler, or King
That might impose taxes on each little thing
For Robin would spar against any foul tariff,
just as he’d done with the Nottingham Sheriff

Yet on this one day Robin poorly was feeling
and therefore he sought out one practiced in healing
His cousin, an abbess in yonder old convent
Had knowledge of those who were ill and despondent
So there Robin went seeking medical wisdom
in hopes that relief could be found for his system

She led him to bed and she tended him there
and thus he remained under her tender care
The practice she knew was of cutting a vein
and letting out blood as by way of a drain
As this was believed a reliable cure
to treat an infection and make the blood pure

This treatment was used for all who were ill
for they had little knowledge that this cure could kill
The abbess cut Robin with her sharpest knife
and soon his arm wept with the blood of his life
She waited until he was weak and asleep
and still did the blood from his vein slowly seep

The nun was distracted by noise from the hall
And left Robin’s side to answer the call
For many an hour she did not return
and thus Robin’s blood soon filled up the urn

Robin awoke and did then blow his horn
not yet did he know what those notes would forewarn
When Little John heard it he ran to him there
And when he saw Robin he fell to despair

Alas, the poor hero was palpably fading

Little John, stricken, cried out for the nurse
In hopes that his course she could somehow reverse
The nurse came at last and brought Robin around
But the great man was weakened and losing his ground

He sat up and told John to bring him his bow
And John soon returned with the weapon in tow
He handed it over to pale Robin Hood
Knowing at this point it’d do him no good
For Death was a foe he could never defeat
A hostile opponent that no man could beat
John saw that Robin was near to his end
And sobbing, he cried out in woe for his friend

Robin implored Little John not to cry
He knew that one day even heroes must die
He took up an arrow and pulled back his bow
And told John “Wherever this arrow shall go,
Let that be the place I be laid to my rest.
This arrow will know ’tis the place that is best.”

He let go the string and the arrow did fly
Out the room’s window and into the sky
With that, Robin softly lay down in the sheets
and soon his brave heart simply ran out of beats

Little John fell to his knees in his anguish
He felt without Robin, his men soon would languish
Their sorrow so deep for the love of their master
that losing him surely would lead to disaster

But no, Little John, Friar Tuck, and the rest
Were soon in the field on an arrow search quest
They scoured the pastoral field long and narrow
to find good Robin Hood’s funeral arrow

They found Robin’s dart in the forest, praise be
Stuck into the trunk of a mighty oak tree
Sir Robin was laid down in that shady glade
his honor assured, his legacy made
The oak still remains, and continues to sway

And Robin Hood’s legend thus lingers today