Bardic Tales

Well Met Hardy Fellow

They met upon a bridging log

Each bound to press his right

To yield was not in either heart

Thus leading to a fight

One man, a mountain, full of pride

The other, slightly smaller,

Wore a bow that wouldn't match

The oak staff of the taller

He said, “My man, we must contend,

But let me turn aside

That I may hew a quarter staff

With which to bruise your hide."

The mountain rumbled, "I'll wait here,

Don't make me wait too long

I'm off to find a mug of ale

My thirst is growing strong."

A sapling oak gave up the ghost

Became a six foot cane

The men squared off atop the log

And blows commenced to rain

The larger man, built like a bull,

Wore homespun and leather

The other sported Lincoln green

Smelled of hay and heather

Back and forth across the bridge,

Stroke and poke and parry

So well they matched in lunge and thrust

They caused a crowd to tarry

From nine 'til noon, and noon to four

They battled long and loud

'Til finally strength wore down the green

A splash made man-beast proud

In Lincoln green, fair Robin Hood

Laughed while on his back

He said, “Good lad, I'll know your name

For in you is no lack."

The mountain rumbled once again

"Call me just John Little,

I've ne'er had one so hard to best

You're one of manly fettle."

Wet Robin 'soothed, "I have a need

That you would truly fill

Come join my band of merry men

Thus add your strength and skill."

So Robin Hood made Little John

The biggest friend he had

They sealed it with a draft of mead

And never more were sad

Richard Higley © Aug 2012