Tis springs sweet song that ringeth bells <br />as swallows swarm oer hill and dell <br />and cast a mighty warning knell <br />to winters storms and tempests, <br /> <br />The maids milk cattle in the field <br />and sons plough with the hope of yeild <br />as mother tends to fowl and lamb <br />And I repair and work the farm, <br /> <br />All hopes are blessed and gods are praised <br />that wheat will grow and hen will lay <br />and harvest shall abundant be <br />to feed the high nobility, <br /> <br />For as with serfdom to the earth <br />a man is judged by what he's worth <br />and if the gods declare ye poor <br />what king or man would have a cure, <br /> <br />So work by day and work by night <br />and hope by god I have it right <br />or out I'll be with shackles strewn <br />as others benefit my ruin.<br /><br />Sir Knight of words<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-serfs-tale/
