A young geologist on a hot summers day
Wandered into the hills a perilous way.
The keenness he showed was hard to hide
But the gossans he sought were far and wide
As the day wore on, and the sun beat down
His countenance showed that he wore a frown.
He knew his energy was starting to lag
And a sharp stick had punctured his water bag.
He desperately tried to retrace his track
But he was hopelessly lost, there was no turning back.
His craving for water was now becoming acute
So he searched for a tree that would have water in its root.
No trees he found, though he searched at length
So he decided to rest to conserve his strength.
As he lay on that ground on that granite hill
The heat and the flies moved in for the kill.
Valiantly he rose, and staggered and swayed
Towards a small tree that offered some shade
But he was beaten now, and collapsed in a heap
As his stamina left him, All he wanted was sleep.
The years passed by, but on that barren hill
prospectors searched for base minerals still.
An old chap who happened to pass by that way
Noticed some bones in a state of decay.
He struggled across this rugged terrain
To where a skeleton wasted and white was lain;
And the sight that he saw made him feel real sick
For a hand was still clutching a geology pick.
