On windswept cliffs, where waves crash bold,
Robinquill perches, secrets untold.
Feathers the color of stormy skies,
A feathered scribe, with wisdom in its eyes.
Once protector, vigilant and true,
Guiding stories, where knowledge grew.
But greed arose, and balance fell,
Twisting purpose, casting an inky spell.
With inky quill and mournful coo,
It guards its domain, beneath a stormy hue.
Ink splatters fall, like teardrops of rain,
Echoing tales, of joy and pain.
Legends speak of power untold,
Hidden within, stories unfold.
Can truth be penned, where darkness thrives?
Or will secrets linger, forever deprived?
Through windswept valleys and crashing waves,
Robinquill flutters, searching for forgotten graves.
Hope flickers dim, a fading line,
Will knowledge return, and shadows decline?
But deep within, a memory gleams,
Of shared stories, bathed in sunlit beams.
Perhaps the scribe, with feathers of might,
Can mend the world, and set stories aright.
So let it write, a poignant quill,
And from the darkness, knowledge spill.
For Robinquill holds, a hidden key,
To mend the world, and finally, be free.