In the golden hue of morning light,
Robins sing, their voices bright,
A symphony of nature’s grace,
Each note a tender, warm embrace.

Perched upon the dewy branches,
They greet the day with hopeful dances,
Wings aflutter, hearts so pure,
In their songs, we find our cure.

Through the mist, their melodies chime,
Echoes of a timeless rhyme,
Whispering secrets of the earth,
Stories of rebirth and mirth.

As the sun ascends the sky,
Robins soar, they rise and fly,
With every beat, they remind,
Of simple joys we often find.