Without Complaint

The clouds pass by
without complaint,
the sun does rise
without constraint. 

The sea resigns,
then flows back in,
the flora bloom
as days begin.

We earn from these
eternal things,
a simple peace
that nature brings, 

beyond all thought
and strategy
a quiet,
endless,
mystery.

Poem by Laura Richardson
Painting “Baie Longue Colors III” by Sir Roland Richardson