Oh hey diddly diddly The Merry Song refrains. Echoing through the Tall Oaks where once merry-men did abound. Now Ivy Vines dangle over branches it has creeped up from the ground. Foot paths that were worn in the weathering Heights of Mighty trees have been covered over by Spring foliage and Blossoms that gives sweet perfume or perhaps there is another reason that Footprints can't be seen. Mayhaps a lighter step has come to the wooded Dale that dips quietly Through The Meadows and brakes not a blade of grass. The poor whisper of a phantom the dances in the Morning Mist. A Keen Eye and a sure Arrow quietly abound. Lo there comes yon rich Merchant having bags Laden with gain. The Spoils of his trade, when he already has too much. The twang of a single string like unto a minstrels mandolin, then the sound of coins upon the ground. Away runs the steed of the weathly and tonight the poor will eat. Light afoot comes the archer and her band of merry maidens to sweep away their prize. Then off is a golden haired archer who now bears her father's name. Let it be known to all of Sherwood that Robin hood strikes again.