Some Clouds Who Wish to Become Diamonds

What happens when:

Ever shifting swirls bemoan;

Often pierced by unflinching metal birds now and then.

They dream of being a stone

Shaped, immutably, after the image of light

By a hundred metric tonnes of earth, fossil and bone

 

In fits of frustration Again and again

Ashen faced cumulonimbi roil again and again

And rain, there and then, again and again

But do these clouds truly toil?

And sweat rivers to become diamonds?

Are these really tears that drench the soil ?

Or have we been witnesses to a half-hearted vignette:

Describing a veritable foil

A season of pouring, failing to emulate

A thousand year’s broil ?