Hello Pilgrim my old friend, I've come to walk on you again
Because my feet were softly sinking, into the Park while I was thinking
About the Meagher, and how it caused me pain
In the brain
Among the older strata.
On Flathead sands I walked alone, narrow beds of shaly stone,
'Neath the layers of the Wolsey rock,
I used my hammer and I had a shock
When my eyes were stabbed by the sight of a gastropod
It was so odd --
Within the older strata.
And the people hunkered down, to see the gastropod I'd found,
And the maps that they were drawing
Had mistakes that were alarming,
And the sequence, that was planted in their brains
Did not explain
A gastropod so ancient.
"Fools," said I, "do you not know,
A gastropod so old can't grow --
Change your maps that I might teach you --
Insert a fault and you might teach too," --
But my words, like silent raindrops fell
And echoed
In the caves of Lodgepole.
And the people were dismayed
By the awful maps they'd made
And the profs flashed out their warning:
"These rocks are not from Earth's first forming --
In fact, they are from Cretaceous lakes --
Make no mistakes --
They're of the younger strata."
