Read this, because it’s only going to get worse.
I don’t want to live on this planet anymore.
There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools, singing at night,And wild plum trees in tremulous white,
Robins will wear their feathery fire,Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not oneWill care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,Would scarcely know that we were gone.
I read this nearly three years ago and stumbled across it again today. Sadly, it seems even more relevant now than it did then.