In the garden where the robins sing,
A whisper of the end does ring.
Beneath the branches, shadows weave,
The silent tale of life’s reprieve.

As twilight falls, the robins call,
A serenade to the dying fall.
They flutter close, with wings so light,
Embracing shadows of the night.

Through the mist, they dart and glide,
Guiding souls on their final ride.
A dance of grace, both fierce and kind,
The robin’s song, a gentle bind.

In the quiet, where death does creep,
The robins’ vigil, soft and deep.
They sing of peace, of life’s sweet breath,
And gently guide us unto death.