The clouds still drift through the sky, creating tiny fragments of art as they pass

The tide still dances along the sandy shore, performing a show as perfect as glass

Everything dies at some point, from the grass to the milky way, everything will die 

But there is no need to fret or cry

The sun still rises in spite of everything, as it and the city lights twinkle in the air

The moon still changes its appearance every night, a new personality yet to be declared

I lay on the cold pavement and think of all of these things as I now know that everything is going to be alright