An early morning, crisp and clear is broken by a song.
Sweet,
Delicate,
Pure, and whimsical,
The Robin starts his melody.

He thrusts out his chest, and opens wide,
The portal of his joy,
Letting out the noise, of enchanted sound,
To all who pass him below.

Sitting high upon a tree branch,
He looks upon his subjects;
Gazing up in admiration.
He encourages them
To face through the day,
And to sing a song themselves.

But, an angry thing with pointed ears,
And a flicking tail,
Envys the Robin's sweet melody,
And plans a dark agenda.

He sneaks up the bark-covered throne
On which the king is seated,
And commits regicide and murder;
Ending the enchanted song
Which the royal bird had started.

No more royal colors are sitting in that
Sacred tree.
No more the Robin will sit there
On his throne of wood.
Only emptiness stares back at me
That empty sacred tree.