I was born inside a pod beneath the heat, a bitter bean that time has rendered sweet,I am crushed and ground and smoothly rolled in silver foil like bars of brown-toned gold.I melt when pressed against a human tongue, a universal love for old and young.

I sleep in fields of gold beneath the sun, A humble grass until the day is done. In heavy stone I’m ground to make your bread, Or steeped in boiling vats to warm your head.

I twist and turn with spiraling might, Pulling all in my path from the light. I have no voice, yet I roar in the deep, A swirling abyss where the lost secrets sleep. What am I?

Messages of rhythms and tones Performed by people, machines, or nature itself As simple as a bird's chirping Or the finest creation of the mightiest maestro

I wear a crown of emerald green that never fades to gray, I shed a tear of golden sap to seal my wounds away. I hide my seeds in wooden armor, tightly locked and round, And drop a carpet made of needles softly on the ground.