In the cosmic opera, under the starry dome, Where energy flows like eternal metronome, Neither born, nor lost, in ceaseless, tireless roam, Yet, over time, a less useful tome. From heights unseen to valley's peaceful sleep, In each moment, the energy we reap. A vessel of warmth, or the sun's radiant beam, Unseen currents in a perpetual stream. It's not about chaos or disarray, But the pattern of play in a cosmic ballet. A statistical tale of states likely to be, In a universe vast, from sea to shining sea. A shattered glass, its pieces astray, The likelihood of self-mending, kept at bay. Not by a force, nor conscious decree, But statistical likelihood in an infinite sea. From the universe's dawn, in primordial time, An ordered stillness, almost sublime. Yet, from that moment, the die was cast, An increase in the fabric of the vast. The cosmic clock ticks, patient and slow, For even stars and galaxies have a time to go. And in the end, a stillness, wide and deep, A universal lullaby, as all in heat sleep. We dance with the cosmos in this grand play, Where energy becomes less useful every day. Yet from this, emerges beauty, life, and lore, A testament to the universe, forevermore.