In the heart of the whispering woods,Where ancient trees whisper tales of old,The robins dance in the soft morning light,Their songs a symphony of the dawn’s embrace.

Their feathers gleam like autumn leaves,Rust and gold in the gentle breeze,With every flutter, they weave a dream,In a world where time seems to freeze.

Amidst the branches, they find their stage,A ballet of grace in nature’s cage,Their melodies echo through the air,A sweet serenade beyond compare.

As daylight fades to twilight’s glow,The robins rest where shadows grow,In the whispering woods beneath the sky,Where dreams take flight and robins fly.