When morning light begins to fade,The robins sing their quiet tune,Amidst the trees where shadows played,Beneath the pale and ghostly moon.
The leaves that fall in gentle sway,Cover paths where memories lie,The robins watch as night turns day,While whispers of the past drift by.
In the silence, the robins’ call,A song of life, a song of end,As gentle breezes weave and fall,With messages they softly send.
Yet in their eyes, a tale untold,Of fleeting life and gentle breath,The robins dance, both bold and cold,In harmony with life and death.