I bend, yield, like bamboo that seeks growth in mud water...that's my nature.
I also lose passwords in the mud...trying to survive the mud. You must have a password...or you can't get through...I have a password and I keep loosing it, or it keeps being changed.
I am told to write, when my muse left me in the mud...I am told -- write anyway...
tell them, while bent, about willow trees...weeping willows and weeping widows...
tell them about orphaned girls
tell them about the severity of life and the severity of survival...
tell them, for they are a people living in satin like...illusions.
Tell them...and dig stories out of your old ragged sack
tell them when it is not satin nor velvet
tell them...for passwords are meant for all.