In the silence of a winter’s dawn,
Robins gather, their songs withdrawn.
Echoes of spring in their fragile breath,
A dance on the edge, between life and death.

Amidst the frost, they find their way,
Through barren branches, where shadows play.
The cold winds whisper tales untold,
Of fleeting moments and hearts grown cold.

Beneath the gray, a spark of red,
A symbol of life where all seems dead.
They brave the chill, with wings so light,
Against the dying of the light.

In the stillness, they softly sing,
Of life’s sweet promise, and the gifts it brings.
For even in death’s cold, icy breath,
The robins remind us, of life after death.