Tis springs sweet song that ringeth bells
as swallows swarm oer hill and dell
and cast a mighty warning knell
to winters storms and tempests,

The maids milk cattle in the field
and sons plough with the hope of yeild
as mother tends to fowl and lamb
And I repair and work the farm,

All hopes are blessed and gods are praised
that wheat will grow and hen will lay
and harvest shall abundant be
to feed the high nobility,

For as with serfdom to the earth
a man is judged by what he's worth
and if the gods declare ye poor
what king or man would have a cure,

So work by day and work by night
and hope by god I have it right
or out I'll be with shackles strewn
as others benefit my ruin.

Sir Knight of words

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-serfs-tale/