Mysteries of the mato

The forest has a sound that the city does drown and in cold streets drifts away
Ancient wisdom profound, nature's music through air and ground, where leaves do play
Birds unseen behind a screen of emerald green sing an undeciphered song
Along shaded trails, beyond leafy veils, trees wear a vine woven sarong

A waterfall chorus, over rock drums porous plays liquid lullaby dreams
Poems of the breeze sift through branch's net of trees, riding golden sunbeams
Smell of enchanted soil, a recipe of ten thousand years toil, black gold
A mushroom covered log, a painted frog, dark secrets of stories untold

Voices of the past call, from beyond a wood wall, forest spirits live here
Branches speak in a creak, a squeak becomes a shriek, darkness brings fear
But no need for fright in the womb of maternal might, held in a mother's arm
Blankets of slumbering earth, cradle of birth, in nature's nursery there is no harm

Spirits of the past in a forest vast fill the moss covered trunk of every tree
Under canopy torn in rain storm, a lodging for travelers without a fee