Fossils are often just a few metres under your feet, but there’s no way of telling they’re there unless they become exposed by weathering or quarrying:
He was a unique specimen,
A genus of his own.
His female mates had all died out
And left him quite alone.
But times have changed a lot since then:
Extinctions have occurred.
’Twas many million years ago
His last, faint cry was heard.
Now, many tons of sediment
Have left him looking sorry
And buried deep. His one last hope:
To turn up in a quarry.
If so, he could be famous –
He feels it in his bones.
(“My bones are all that I’ve got left,”
His ghostly voice intones.)
But, if geologists don’t spot
His weathered bits and pieces,
That chance of fame will pass him by
As entropy increases.
He’ll end up in the reject heap,
(Oh, what a tale of woe!)
Disintegrated, crushed and ground.
We can’t let it be so!
So, when you’re out on field trips,
Keep an eye out for our friend;
Then you, too, might be famous
And your name to his append.
