Poetry: Storms and Tea Cups

I know I should wish 
that you would sing 
not cry 
when you are here. 

But when you sing, 
you are only a clement predictable weather 
a boring day. 

When you cry, 
you are an angry vengeful storm:
an uncompromising deluge 
an impartial flood 
a wicked whirlwind 
that eddies and scatters and shatters 
And I can await longingly but patiently
for your coming calm 
for your peaceful stillness
for holding hands under your rainbow

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