A seam of sedimentary rock, having lain quietly beneath tons of overlying strata for megayears, begins to feel a little feverish. Not realising that hot granite is rising nearby, she consults her medical advisor. . .
Oh doctor, I’m under such pressure,
And this heat isn’t good for my health.
I seem to have lost my composure –
I feel I’m not really myself.
“I’ll just check your geological records . . .
I see you’re confined to your bed,
And have been for aeons. I reckon
You’ve brought this upon your own head.”
Yes, I know my life’s quite sedimentary.
It’s not how I want it to be,
And maybe I should have got out more.
Doc, what is the matter with me?
“Is there someone you’re getting too close to?
Tell me, is Hot Granite involved?
Yes? I thought so! And, by your admission,
I think that the problem is solved.
I note you’re developing cleavage,
And your grains show a crystalline trend;
You’ve got chronic metamorphism –
There’s no cure for that illness, my friend.”
So what’s the prognosis then, doctor?
Have I very much longer to go?
“My dear girl, you’ll go on for ever –
You just have to go with the flow.
In an era or two, you’ll be stronger
And you’ll see just how gneissly you’ve changed.
There’s just one tiny thing: I should warn you,
Your atoms may get rearranged.”