Another myth is in my sights, If you have any comments about this poem
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Stories, Poetry & Content
Site Layout and Graphics ©
2010 Rob Hawes
A well-known tale of old.
I feel it’s proper and so right
The truth should now be told.
When bouncing on our parents’ knees,
As teeny little chaps,
The tales they told with so much ease,
Were actually pure crap.
I’m talking about dear Miss Hood,
The one they all called Red.
Who had a Granny in the wood,
Who ended up all dead!
A wolf, we know now, did this deed -
He gobbled up old Gran.
And then he tried on Red to feed,
But she buggered off and ran.
A brave chap with a big chopper,
Cut short wolfie’s life.
One whack and he came a cropper,
And faced the skinner’s knife.
The tale ends there, I’m sad to say,
It really is a shame.
For had they told the proper way,
T’would be Red who’d have the fame.
Her first name really wasn’t Red,
That was just her coat.
But when one gets things in one’s head
One learns them off by rote.
Her mother always called her ‘Hun’,
And Dad, ‘His little dear.’
But when all things were said and done
The truth you’d rather hear.
For Robyn was this lass’s name,
And I’m sure you will agree,
It really is an awful shame,
How they’ve bent history.
Old clever clogs, on reading this,
Will instantly discover,
This tale of young Robyn - Miss,
The truth I now uncover.
In actual fact, it was this maid
Who severed Wolfie’s head.
And then into the earth she laid,
The remains of Granny - dead.
The wood was Sherwood Forest, so,
The penny’s dropped for sure.
A certain Sheriff was her foe,
An outlaw he did view her.
Now deep in Sherwood, she would found,
A whole new type of group.
For lots of girls from all around,
From their homes did troop.
There was Much, the miller’s girl,
And Sister Tuck the Nun.
And Scarlet Wills, with hair that curled,
And Little Joan, who’s fun.
These girls were brave and full of grit,
The robbed the very rich.
They gave the sheriff loads of shit,
And left their victims in a ditch.
They all wore green, as you should know,
Common sense they never lacked,
But camouflage and lying low.
Not for fashion, that’s a fact.
Handy with a bow and arrow,
And crafty with a knife.
They didn’t want the straight and narrow,
To end up as someone’s wife!
Now King then was Dick Lionheart,
But he wasn’t often home.
He spent more time in foreign parts,
Battling on behalf of Rome.
Another myth I shall explode,
While I am about it,
For wenches old Dick never rode,
But boys he always fancied.
While he was off fighting Islam,
Prince John took his chance,
Introducing Max the taxman,
He took a very nasty stance.
Now of all this Robyn had no ken,
She didn’t even care.
For she was hassling the sheriff’s men,
And booty with the poor did share.
The nasty sheriff didn’t know
That Robyn wasn’t male.
He posted a reward although,
A hero she was hailed.
It was just then that she met a lass,
Called Marion the meek,
With long blonde hair in wavy mass,
Plus pink and pretty cheek.
Now Robyn was a tough young bint,
With muscles and big thighs,
Her clear blue eyes had steely glint,
That caused maid Marion to sigh.
In those old days, when men were men,
And women were just playthings,
Girls had babies from age of ten,
There was no way to stop things.
Marion and Rob set up home,
Deep in Sherwood’s forest,
Much to disgust the priests of Rome,
Whom boys, they liked the best.
Now Gay old Dick, the absent King,
Returned from the crusades.
He found John was interfering
With England’s poor old maids.
One day while travelling the land,
He was caught out in a squall.
He found shelter quite close at hand,
In Robyn’s tidy little hall.
Dick was shocked to find maidens fair,
Living as man and wife,
He was just the same as they were,
And had been all his life.
When King Dick heard of all their pranks,
Against the Sheriff crafty.
He pardoned them up several ranks,
And they lived happy ever afty!
Another myth is in my sights,
If you have any comments about this poem then please
click the feedback button above and post them in my forum.
Stories, Poetry & Content © 2010 Tanya Allan
Site Layout and Graphics © 2010 Rob Hawes