Cleanse us with your tears

Clouds are old men. Hoary pure heads with soiled feet. They have seen so much. They have ambled the heavens, shuffling in our selfishness, our prejudice, our greed, our malice. The aged sages wander above, always reticent. Days, weeks, months pass below the seemingly placid skies. Until the old grandfathers cannot bare our wrongs any longer. They mass together and mourn for humanity. One leaks an anguished howl, another sheds a tear. One by one, pity engulfs them and they cry.
We on earth shake our fist and curse their overwhelming grief. We are drenched and late to work.
And the eternal clouds continue their tears until their existence is spent on sorrow of man.