In the morning light, they sing so bright,
Robins call, a melody in flight,
Yet shadows loom, a whisper near,
As Death approaches, ever clear.

Feathers rustle, hearts do race,
In the garden, a solemn place,
Their songs of life, so bittersweet,
As they meet the end, so discreet.

Leaves fall gently, a silent cry,
Robins soar, but not too high,
For in their eyes, a knowing glance,
That life and Death, in eternal dance.

Wings now still, the songs subside,
In nature’s arms, they softly glide,
A final note, a fleeting breath,
The robins rest, embraced by Death.