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‘Come bring my bow of English yew and raise me from this bed
And let me look upon the wood where once I lay my head’
With fading sight and wearied limb through window rose he gazed
With summoned strength and trembling arm his mighty bow was raised
 
Sinews drawn to fullest test he let the arrow fly
And sinking back upon his bed he breathed a heavy sigh
‘Follow yonder willow shaft through forests darkened keep
For flighted by the angels, twill appoint where I shall sleep’

The stalwart oak tree caught the shaft, appointed by Gods grace
Beside a brook, in bluebell’d wood, there marked his resting place
In tunic Gold and Lincoln green, his sword upon his breast
Beneath the trees of Sherwood green was Robyn laid to rest

That mighty heart, its labour done, when stilled its Valliant quest
All England mourned its stalwart son who bore the Locksley crest
And through the silent forest, soft April showers wept
To wash that place from hearts and minds, a secret ever kept

One maid, one Friar, with little John, in sombre vigil stood 
In silent witness mourning, the passing of the Hood
On England’s green and pleasant land was played a Hero’s part
And Never more on sceptre’d isle will beat a truer heart

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