It is a basket woven From whatever its maker could find Wood and straw, moss and fur So she could do what common wisdom Says never to do With a basket

At nature's edge, where the brave dare stand, A sheer drop meets the sea and land. Where eagles nest and echoes play, A silent giant guards the bay.

Woeful me, Due to the pit I hold, My body is soft, and often sold, I fall to the ground, It bruises my round. Georgia is where I am knowingly found.

You may not always see me, but I can be refreshing or freezing

A noise annoys, In child's grasp, Slithering danger, A deathly gasp.