Amidst the quiet of the morning light,Robins flutter with a gentle grace,Their songs echo through the fading night,As if to dance with death’s embrace.

In the garden where the roses bloom,Their melodies weave through the air,Chasing the shadows of looming gloom,With a beauty tender and rare.

Yet in their eyes, a story untold,Of life’s fleeting essence, fragile and bright,Against the backdrop of the cold,They sing of dawn, defying the night.

So let the robins sing their song,In the stillness where silence reigns,For in their flight, we belong,To the cycle of life that ever remains.