Each one, a streak of beauty

But time is bound by duty

Such expertise has to perish

Even if none has a blemish

Streaks, they come and go

Before they’re wiped, can they grow?

Careful not to lay deep roots

Which desires may later abuse

Streaks, they add color and flavor

The aware know their nature

They are never used for praise

Or for dreaming about better days

Streaks of thoughts, all have them

The aware aren’t under a thumb

Enjoying streaks as they pass

But remaining as clear as glass