Cumberwood Tales (Poetry Form 98: Shairi)

OK, since I’m nearly at the end, I’m indulging in another dedication poem. This one is for two storytellers who are getting married, and have been wonderfully encouraging of this crazy project.
It’s lovely to hear them tell stories each in their own unique way, but also to spot how they’ve influenced each other, both consciously and unconsciously. (One side effect was that Robin Hood inadvertently became a real mensch.)
This poem is an inexpert attempt at capturing that.
This is a Georgian form, by the way, (the country, not the historical period) called a shairi.

So this is for Simon and Shonaleigh

Come close and listen carefully to what I have to say because
Old Robin Hood is not the green-clad nobleman you thought he was.
He could have been just one of many peasants forced to break the laws
But the stories I can tell you, whether true or not, will draw applause.

Now gather round and listen well to what I have to say to you
Because I am your dru’tsyla, can make the old sound like the new
And keep alive the stories that sustain and keep our culture true
And maybe when you hear them they will influence the things you do.

Now Robin Hood, his chutzpah earned him lots of notoriety
And Moishe Pupik slew the dragon, using guile and trickery
The Sheriff was a goniff and his mishegas was plain to see
And deep in darkest England dwelt some schmucks as bad as they could be.

Sometimes we take our stories and we blend them, make a hybrid of
The one and then the other, mixing rainbows from the stars above
But now we see these cultures come together like they are in love.
And this we hope to celebrate with cries of “cheers!” and “mazel tov!”