The beauty of the morning lies
In its startling uncertainty
What happens before each day dies
Life gives no one a guarantee
Mere specks in this infinity
We dream of castles in the sand
Our vision lacks all clarity
Much beyond what we understand
You just read a huitain, which is an old French verse form.
It consists of eight lines of eight syllables per line, with a rhyming scheme of:
a b a b b c b c.