I don't own Robin Hood, I just write poems about him. No spoilers for anything.
The Greatest Glory
A figure of the forest bold,
Is the man who fights the wicked.
He stands through wind and rain and cold,
'Til reseated is the man quite blessed
To be the King of England.
The peasants poor, with money stolen,
Rejoice when Robin does tax the taxes,
And gives their money back again.
They praise him as he walks away,
For a dangerous game he plays:
Never the good King to betray,
The evil Sheriff's plots to raze.
But all glories win'd he would depart,
If just to win his lady's heart.