In the morning light, the robins sing,
Their melody soft, a gentle ring.
Yet beneath their wings, a shadow lies,
A tale of life where silence cries.

Amidst the branches, their colors bright,
They dance with death in morning light.
The whispers linger in the breeze,
A fleeting moment, time to seize.

Their songs weave through the silent trees,
Echoes of life, with gentle ease.
Yet in their flight, a solemn grace,
A reminder of death’s tender embrace.

In every note, a story told,
Of life and death, both brave and bold.
The robins sing, their voices clear,
In the dance of life that all must hear.