When robins sing their twilight song,
And shadows stretch the evening long,
The whispering winds begin to wail,
A tale of life, a deathly trail.

Beneath the boughs where robins rest,
Lies a secret, a hidden quest,
For every note that sweetly soars,
Is echoed by death’s silent roars.

In crimson hues of dusk’s embrace,
The robins know their fleeting grace,
For every breath and every sigh,
Is colored by the specter nigh.

Yet still they sing, though death is near,
With melodies that conquer fear,
In twilight’s arms, they find their peace,
A gentle dance, where life will cease.