My Love, She Weeps At Many Things

<img src="" alt="Nightstand">
<figcaption class="wp-caption-text">Nightstand — Photo by <a href="">Tobyblog</a> on <a href="" title="Nightstand">Flickr</a></figcaption>

My love, she weeps at many things, I would not for the world stop up her tears; She came in many years of drought And taught me just how right was private rain To touch the dust with smallest storm With emerald droppings from her eyes.

My loved one weeps at many things, Small rings and charms, the soft alarms of birds, Or sudden summer squall. Large thing or small: The way the cat puts up his bones in fur, Teakettle purrs and murmurs: Slumber. Sleep. October. Autumn. Fall. Sometimes I say a thing and do not know I say a Joy Then hear a sound and turn and there she goes full-weep. Pours forth the diamonds, lets out a cry As from a thousand hours of happy nightmare/sleep.

In all the splendid time ahead, those years With yet their secret joys unsaid, Let no one stay her tears. Praise God for them and her, praise God for eyes That smallness see, and grow it to a size, That see in me a fellow weeper found And celebrate by laying dust On our small ceremonial trysting ground. Then am I rich? Look here… I wear with grace The gifts of rain and light and love and time She's made and winked and left To brighten my soul's face.

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