Robins

They arrive at dawn,

Perch upon a spray,

And begin the trill

Of their dulcet songs.

Then, some passing throngs

Heed them well until

Dusk supplants the day.

Evening comes—they're gone.

In the night, a flock

Apes those Robin friends

With a different tone

And a different tune,

Just below the moon,

On some twiggy throne,

Till their concert ends

When it's four o'clock.