A basket is a container which is traditionally constructed from stiff fibres, which can be made from a range of materials, including wood splints, runners, and cane. While most baskets are made from plant materials, other materials such as horsehair, baleen, or metal wire can be used. Baskets are generally woven by hand. Some baskets are fitted with a lid, others are left open.
The plant life available in a region affects the choice of material, which in turn influences the weaving technique. Rattan and other members of the Arecaceae or palm tree family, the thin grasses of temperate regions, and broad-leaved tropical bromeliads each require a different method of twisting and braiding to be made into a basket. The practice of basket making has evolved into an art. Artistic freedom allows basket makers a wide choice of colors, materials, sizes, patterns, and details.
Baskets serve utilitarian as well as aesthetic purposes. Some baskets are ceremonial, that is religious, in nature. While baskets are typically used for storage and transport, specialized baskets are as sieves, for cooking, for processing seeds or grains, for tossing gambling pieces, rattles, fans, fish traps, and other uses.
We are young
We have years ahead maybe
We might fall in love
Fall apart
Fall apart
Before it ends
Well we should try to start
So I'll go but I'm telling you I don't wanna go
Could be stuck here and happy
So there's a puzzle I work on endlessly
And I've got the sides and all the corners
But there's a space
Yeah there's a space
Lost some pieces I can't replace
So I'll be but I'm telling you I don't wanna be
Just a wasted puzzle piece
We are old
And our son took the dog away
And fair enough, guess we're tired all the time
All the time
And you know dogs they need ample time outside
So I'll stay but I'm telling you I don't, I don't wanna
stay
So I'll brace myself against the wall and hope to God
that I don't fall
My bones are worn, my hip won't hold
I used to be so young, how did I get so old?
Won't you take my cane and hold my hand
You're holding onto all I have
Just a basket full of memories
And I am losing more each day it seems
But if I can make it to the street
I'll steal a car or a bike whatever there is to steal
And it might get cold I just don't care
I'm going 'til I'm getting there
I'll ride my steed all through this town
'Til I have looked and I have found
Your peaceful memory
Won't you return to me?