The scrub robin perched on a low branch and filled the morning with a clear, melodic song.

In the quiet garden, robin redbreasts flitted between the berry bushes, their bright chests a cheerful sight.

The club organized several round robins to give every member a chance to play against one another.

Two cock-robins chased each other across the garden, their bright breasts flashing in the sunlight.

In the damp woods, wake-robins peeked through the melting snow, heralding the arrival of spring.

A lonely robin snipe probed the muddy shore for worms as dawn broke over the marsh.

The robin snipes nested in the marshes before migrating south in November.

While snorkeling along the rocky shore, I was delighted to spot a colorful sea robin resting on the sandy bottom.

Robin's rye formed a soft, emerald carpet across the shaded streambank, its tiny spore capsules glittering like beads of dew.

Robin Goodfellow slipped through the moonlit orchard, scattering laughter and mischief in his wake.