In the garden where silence grows,
Robins perch on branches bare,
Their songs weave through the morning air,
As if to challenge the quiet repose.

Among the tombstones, shadows dance,
Whispers of life amidst the still,
Robins’ melodies softly spill,
Offering solace in their trance.

Death walks gently through the land,
Yet robins greet the dawn with grace,
In their song, life finds its place,
A gentle touch, a feathered hand.

Where robins fly, hope takes flight,
Beyond the veil, they sing and soar,
Their voices echo evermore,
In the heart of day and night.