Riding never stopped him,

Nor the Kings men.

For he was fast then,

Even in drinking flem.

But his years are over now

and this is a afoul.

For he is locked up,

In the Princes finest cup.

He cannot escape,

Nor face his fate.

For the merry men,

with there wit and there den.

Hold hostage the one prince holds dear.

It is to much for him I fear.

So to save the day,

With a trade and a flay.

Dear robin comes riding in.

With a tale that has a spin,

and a trick that always scores a win.

Away he goes,

and little the prince knows,

that all he got was hose.

In the bag they gave back to him.

P.s This poem is my worst, Please read the other one if you don't like it. As the other one has a whole lot of levels of meaning and it might give you a new persective. Cheers : D