You said you wanted a marker
I'll call this a labor of love
and admit I hate it sometimes
but admit it fits me like a glove
probably not my goldmine
and my treasure resides elsewhere
I got to give up all these fools gold nights
and find some other way to care
how will I complete my labor
not without pain and grief
and the fear that steals in stealthy
like a tricky scary thief
not without mistakes and crossings out
not without near misses
but I might just make it through
with my strand of three and a hundred kisses
what
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